


For enemies

by LakeWitch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Battle of Hogwarts, Bottom!Harry, Draco Malfoy at the Burrow, Eventual Fluff, First Time, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mild Blood, Mild suggestion of past experienced homophobia, Nightmare, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Redemption, Rimming, Sectumsempra, Sectumsempra Scars, Sharing a Bed, Smut, The Burrow (Harry Potter), Wakes & Funerals, but I try to strike a balance somewhere between not-depressing and respectful, hand-holding, top!draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 16:14:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20678231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LakeWitch/pseuds/LakeWitch
Summary: What if, in the aftermath ofSectumsempra, Harry Potter demonstrates remorse for what he’d done?And says the words ‘I'm sorry,’ to Draco Malfoy?‘No one can help me,’ said Malfoy. His whole body was shaking. ‘I can’t do it … I can’t … It won’t work … and unless I do it soon … he says he’ll kill me …'





	1. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince Remix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning for: Sectumsempra Nightmare/Blood, language

With everyone down in the Great Hall for dinner, Gryffindor tower was eerily quiet. There was a stillness in the air, as if the entire Castle were empty. 

Harry hadn’t gone down with his classmates—he wasn’t hungry—just the thought of food would turn his stomach, if he were to think of it. 

But he wasn’t thinking. Not at all. 

Instead he stood alone, in the center of his dorm room, staring off into space in a numb sort-of-trance. He didn’t remember walking there, didn’t know why he was standing. Didn’t care. 

A blank stretch of wall was in his line of sight, but his unfocussed eyes didn’t register it. 

Shivering, his mind tried to inform him—nudging at him—saying that he was cold. Blinking slowly, he looked down to realise he was still dressed in his school uniform, soaked through with water and blood. 

_Malfoy’s blood_, he thought with a jolt to the chest. 

A cold, spider-like sensation crawled up his spine. 

He blinked rapidly, coming out of his daze. 

Malfoy—_What have I done?_

‘_Fuck,_’ Harry uttered out loud. 

He shook his head in an attempt to clear it. 

Peeling off his clothes in a rush, with stiff, shaky fingers as if the clothes burned him, he left them there in a pile at his feet. And, naked, clammy and cold, he hurried over to the bathroom and into a shower stall. 

Panting, Harry fumbled with the knob to set the water to near-scalding, and let it wash over him from head to toe. Let it soak in his hair, and run over his eyes, nose, mouth. 

His body shook … perhaps from having stood so long in cold, wet clothes. Or perhaps from the swirling emotions within himself, that he was trying very hard to ignore. _Just concentrate on the water. Focus on the heat_, he told himself. 

Snatching a bar of soap from the rack, he scrubbed hard against his skin, fingernails and soap together. The hot steam and the smell of soap overpowered his senses. He made the mistake of looking down, seeing ribbons of red circling the drain. Blood. Malfoy’s blood. His head buzzed with white noise. 

Harry clenched his jaw, fixed his eyes on the white-tiled wall in front of him, and scrubbed harder. 

When he was done, with pruned fingertips and skin that felt raw from the abuse, Harry stepped out and toweled off. Walking back into the room, he sidestepped the pile of wet, bloody clothes and rummaged around in his trunk for a soft, clean cotton t-shirt and pajama bottoms. He changed quickly and climbed into bed, shutting the curtains around himself—shutting out the bloody clothes, shutting out the outside world. His breath came out in erratic bursts. 

He wanted sleep. He needed to put this day to rest and start new tomorrow. 

But his body wouldn’t obey. _Malfoy_, his traitorous mind was reminding him. Screaming at him. 

_He’s going to be fine_, his thoughts countered, trying to relax through sheer will. _He’s fine_, his thoughts repeated. Snape had seen to that. Harry had watched Malfoy’s wounds being stitched back together. 

_If Snape hadn’t been there—but he_ had been _there._

Harry’s mind whirled and his thoughts clashed, as he stared wide-eyed up at the canopy above him. If Snape hadn’t come—and Malfoy had bled out in front of him, with Harry’s body frozen from terror, from guilt … Malfoy would’ve _died_. In cold blood, right there in a Hogwarts bathroom. Harry would’ve murdered him. Harry would have become a murderer. 

And for what? All he had meant to do was defend himself. 

A heaviness settled low in Harry’s abdomen. He should never have cast that spell. 

The other, gentler, voice in his head told him it wasn’t his fault. The Half-blood Prince had written that note in the textbook, aside the words ‘_for enemies_’. How was Harry supposed to have known of its brutality? The Half-blood Prince had just been a student, hadn’t he? A 6th year, a 16-year-old, just like Harry. _Who—who would write something like that—something that tears someone’s chest apart?_

And Harry shouldn’t feel guilty—it was just Malfoy. Malfoy who was definitely up to something nefarious. And was almost certainly a Death Eater. 

He deserved it. He was going to cast _Crucio_— 

_It wouldn’t have worked,_ that chastising voice in his head, which sounded annoyingly like Hermione, said. Malfoy had looked like a cornered animal, he was frightened, vulnerable. 

The cold words, ‘You have to mean it,’ echoed in his mind. 

Harry groaned, flipping over onto his stomach and burying his head deep into the pillow. 

He could see Malfoy’s tear-stained face behind his closed eyelids. This was the same person who called Hermione a Mudblood, who’d made ‘Potter Stinks’ badges, who’d stomped on his nose. But pangs of something like sympathy were clawing away in his chest. Malfoy had been sobbing. He’d looked … broken. Helpless. 

It was far too much to process right then. Harry eventually fell into a fitful sleep.

~~

He woke up much later, screaming, with tears streaming down his face.

There was a gasp. Then, ‘Harry?’ 

Harry was gulping for air, shaking, his heart pounding and threatening to break through his chest. 

‘Harry?’ came Ron’s voice again, louder now, concerned and groggy. 

Harry tried to right himself, his eyes began to adjust to the darkness. He could see the soft cotton curtains. A mahogany bedpost. He’s in his bed. ‘I’m okay, Ron, just a nightmare,’ he managed to utter. ‘Go back to sleep.’ 

Ron hesitated, but decided not to press it. ‘Alright, mate. G’night.’ 

He heard Ron’s head hit the pillow again, heard the creak of his bed as he turned on his side, and listened for his breath slowing, signaling a return to sleep. 

But Harry wasn’t going to get back to sleep so easily. He’d dreamt of Malfoy, sat in bed in the hospital wing … and Snape’s healing spell hadn’t stuck—the wounds were opening up again. He’d been pleading with Harry to make it stop; he’d been crying again. Malfoy had begged Harry, said _please_ ... his grey eyes huge and red-rimmed and wet, and his long pale fingers outstretched towards him. 

His wounds had opened, wider and wider. There’d been so much redness. Flesh and blood and then bone exposed. Blood pouring out and soaking the bed. The white of Malfoy's ribcage. Harry had been unable to move, unable to speak. Frozen in place. _Again_. The worst part was when Malfoy had died, slumping back with a soft gasp, and the life gone from his eyes. That’d been when Harry woke up. 

He trembled in bed, his mind screaming at him that it might be true. Malfoy’s wounds could be reopening—they had no idea of what that spell truly did, after all. Malfoy could be dying, alone, at that very moment. Harry could still be _killing him_. 

Harry couldn’t stand it. 

He got up, threw on his Invisibility cloak, and set out for the hospital wing.

~~

Harry’s heart pounded as he approached the hospital wing doors. He knew Malfoy was probably fine. But what if he wasn’t? He had to know. He had to see for himself. He would just slip in quietly and have a look, appease his fears, and then be out of there without anyone knowing.

He pushed open the heavy wooden door. It creaked. Harry froze and winced. 

‘Who’s there?’ asked a tiny voice. 

Harry couldn’t answer, couldn’t find his voice. He didn’t want Malfoy to _know_. 

His feet moved him forward, deeper into the dark hospital wing. 

‘Who’s there?’ The voice was a little louder this time, but the way it wavered betrayed nervousness. ‘Lumos.’ 

Harry was still under the Invisibility cloak, so all Malfoy had managed to do was illuminate himself, sitting up in bed, and the space around him. Harry stepped closer to the foot of Malfoy’s bed, while scanning his body. Looking for signs of wounds. Looking for blood. 

Malfoy was even paler than usual, something Harry wouldn’t have thought possible. He’d lost the colour in his lips, and he had dark rings around his eyes. He looked frail—too skinny. But he was alive. And intact. Harry breathed out a shaky sigh, it almost felt like relief. But the images from his dream were still haunting him enough that the relief wasn’t quite complete. Something was still there, some _feeling_, knocking on his ribs. 

He could go now, he _should_ go now. Malfoy was fine, and he’d have no idea Harry had checked on him in the night. But Harry’s feet seemed glued to the floor. 

Malfoy slumped back against the headboard, letting his wand fall to the side. ‘Potter,’ he uttered, sounding defeated. Then, casually adding, ‘Come to finish me off?’ 

That shocked Harry, pulling him out of his thoughts. He tore off the cloak. 

Malfoy just regarded him with a look of weary acceptance. ‘Go on, then.’ 

‘No!’ Harry blurted out. He wouldn’t—he wasn’t like that— 

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. ‘No? I suppose it wouldn’t be very Gryffindor of you to off me in a hospital bed. Wouldn’t be very _chivalrous_,’ he practically spat the word, ‘eh, Potter?’ 

Harry didn't have a witty retort, he just pressed his lips together, staring at Malfoy’s face. It was carefully arranged in a haughty mask of indifference, but there were cracks in it. He could see it in the way Malfoy blinked. 

‘So why the late-night visit, hmm? Come to gloat?’ Malfoy asked. 

Harry shook his head, frowning. He knew he should say something. Saying ‘I’m sorry’ would be the right thing to do. But how could he? How could he say those words to _Malfoy_? 

‘Well?’ Malfoy demanded, getting visibly frustrated. 

‘I needed to see if you’re okay,’ Harry found himself saying, and immediately wished he hadn’t, because those words were too honest. 

It was Malfoy’s turn to be shocked, though he tried to hide it. His face contorted into what looked like surprise, then doubt, then something more complicated. His eyes were blinking slowly at Harry, Harry didn’t know what it meant. And then, just like that, the face was blank again, an impenetrable wall. 

‘I’m fine. No thanks to you. Now if that’s all, I’d like to be left alone—’ 

‘Are you sure you’re okay? Your lips are so pale.’ Harry blurted out, and then immediately wished he hadn’t said that either. He knew he should really go back to bed. If it were day—if he hadn’t had that nightmare, he wouldn’t be talking like this. He wouldn’t say anything out loud about his nemesis’ lips. Especially not … _to him_. Even if there’s something wrong and they aren’t their usual pink—

Malfoy licked his lips, seemingly involuntarily. Harry watched the movement. ‘Yes, well, I lost a lot of blood. I wonder why?’ 

Harry’s jaw muscle twitched. ‘I didn’t know what the spell did.’ 

Malfoy didn’t appear to care. He should be mad, he should be shouting at Harry, asking how he could be so _stupid_. Instead, he seemed … weary. ‘Okay. Are you done?’ 

Harry was still rooted to the spot. He should leave. Malfoy was fine. There was nothing left to say. Except … But, no, it was too hard to say ‘I’m sorry’. This was Malfoy. He’d certainly never apologised for stomping on his face. But, on the other hand, his conscience was nagging at him, telling him that he _had_ to say it. 

He regarded Malfoy, weakened and sitting up in his hospital bed, wearing the generic hospital-issued striped pajamas. Looking like a normal sick boy, not at all like the looming threat Harry had been seeing him as this year. Just a regular person. (Albeit too pale and too blond and kind of elegant still—in a poncy way.) Almost a regular person you could say ‘I’m sorry’ to. 

‘No,’ he finally said, in answer to Malfoy’s question—he wasn’t done. Stalling, he asked again, ‘Are you really alright?’ 

Malfoy sighed. ‘Come here.’ 

Harry hesitated. ‘Um …' 

Malfoy shot him a look. ‘Eloquent. Come on.’ He waved to a spot beside his bed. 

Harry obeyed, tentatively. That’s when something happened that Harry’s mind couldn’t quite process: Malfoy was unbuttoning his pajama top. 

‘What are you—” Harry started, unsure. 

Malfoy shot him another look. ‘You keep asking if I’m fine. I suppose if you won’t believe me, I’ll have to show you. Then perhaps you will finally leave me alone,’ he said, heavily enunciating the words _leave me alone_. 

Harry nodded, watching with widening eyes. Inch after inch of pale skin was exposed as Malfoy’s slender, nimble fingers undid each button. When he was done, he threw open the shirt with a quick flourish, neutrally watching for Harry’s reaction. 

And Harry’s reaction was not what Harry would have expected from himself. Thin pink lines of raised flesh remained from the curse, but his body seemed solid, put-together. Mostly healed. Malfoy’s torso was as pale as the rest of him, and his body lean but muscular, from years of Quidditch. His nipples were almost obscene, pink and pebbled right there on his chest. Malfoy’s nipples. He’d never thought of Malfoy having nipples, though obviously he would have them ... Not to mention the trail of white-blond hairs that started at that little innie-bellybutton and travelled downwards underneath the blanket … 

Harry’s face felt hot. Suddenly the intimacy of this strange meeting struck him. He was alone, in the hospital wing, at night, with a nearly-shirtless Draco Malfoy, who, inexplicably, might be, could be—an attractive person. It was enough to flip one’s world upside down. 

‘Okay,’ Harry said, but his mouth had become dry at some point, so it came out a little croaky. 

Malfoy eyed him strangely, and closed his pajama top without buttoning it up. ‘Alright?’ 

‘Yeah,’ Harry said. He should go. This was weird. He’s going to go. As an afterthought, he said, ‘Yeah. But, will it scar?’ 

Malfoy pursed his lips, but shrugged. ‘Maybe.’ 

Harry ran fingers through his hair, inadvertently ruffling it up worse. Malfoy seemed to notice, but didn’t comment. 

‘I’m sorry,’ Harry said, at last. It felt like he was the one exposed. 

Malfoy eyed him, his expression betraying nothing. He finally let out a weary sigh and, rolling his eyes, said, ‘Fine. I accept your apology. Now that your conscience is appeased, you can run along back to your dorm room, and everything can go back to the way it was.’ 

Harry silently agreed, he wanted everything to go back to normal. Wanted to be the good guy, with Malfoy as the bad guy he had to keep his eye on. The way it’d been for over 5 years. The past 24 hours had been too confusing. Harry was supposed to be good, not a near-murderer. And Draco Malfoy was supposed to be bad. Not a crying, vulnerable boy whose only confidant was a ghost. 

He nodded, turned, and walked right out of the hospital wing. His heart was still pounding as he threw the Invisibility cloak back on, and set off towards Gryffindor Tower. 

__

__

He tried to keep his mind carefully blank. He’d said, ‘I’m sorry,’ and done what he’d set out to do. That … was that. Back to normal, now. Conscience: appeased. 

But as the staircase he stood on began to move, Malfoy’s words came back to Harry in a flash. The ones from the bathroom, that he’d overheard spoken to Myrtle. _‘No one can help me … I can’t do it … I can’t … It won’t work … and unless I do it soon … he says he’ll kill me …' _

Harry gripped the banister tight. 

He hesitated for a beat. 

Then, he made himself turn back. 

~~

He found Malfoy, curled in on himself, clinging to a pillow on his hospital bed, silently crying.

‘Malfoy—’ Harry blurted out, taken aback. 

‘_Go away._’ he barked out, before a sniffle, making his words lose some of their bite. 

‘What happened?’ 

Malfoy choked out a bitter, ‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’ 

‘But when I left, you were fine—’ 

‘I was trying to hold it together, alright? Is that what you wanted to hear?’ 

‘I—No! But …' 

‘Leave me alone, Potter.’ 

‘No. I—I don’t want to leave you like this,’ Harry said, uneasily but earnestly, shifting his weight to his other leg. 

‘Why not? You hate me. We hate each other.’ 

‘I don’t … hate you …' he said slowly, realising that it was the truth as he spoke. His heart pounded with the admission. When had he stopped hating Malfoy? 

Malfoy stayed silent. He had a hand covering his eyes and his shoulders shook gently. Harry took a few tentative steps forward, eyeing the bed, thinking he might sit on it ... 

The bed dipped as he sat, and he heard Malfoy suck in a shaky breath. Harry faced the blank wall behind Malfoy’s headboard, unsure of what to do, but knowing that he couldn’t just leave. 

‘Is it … my fault?’ Harry asked after a moment, omitting the words _that you’re crying_. 

‘Fuck off, Potter. The world doesn’t revolve around you.’ 

That stung a bit. ‘Right. I know. I only ask because I mauled you a few hours ago …’ 

Malfoy snorted a laugh, and then, Malfoy sighed. His quivering shoulders slowed down, eventually stopping their movements altogether. He sniffed and wiped the back of his hand over his nose, then turned to look at Harry, which gave Harry a good look at Malfoy’s red-rimmed eyes and blotchy wet face. Harry felt a mad urge to reach over and wipe at Malfoy’s tears with his fingers. 

‘It’s not you, it’s the Dark Lord. Who else would it be?’ Malfoy said, looking up at him, expression guarded. 

Nodding slowly, Harry tentatively asked, ‘Do you ... want to talk about it?’ 

‘Ha! With the Chosen One? Don't be stupid.’ 

Harry deflated, but decided to persist. ‘You could though … And I could …’ _No one can help me_. He sucked in a breath. ‘I can help you.’ 

‘Don’t make me laugh,’ Malfoy said darkly. ‘You can’t help me.’ 

‘Maybe I can’t, by myself, but …’ Harry looked away at the wall, struggling to _think_. ‘Dumbledore can … and the Order of the Phoenix. Your family can go to a safe house, you can all be protected.’ 

‘They wouldn’t. They would never help me and my family,' he said bitterly. 

Harry looked back at Malfoy’s face, and chewed on the side of his bottom lip. ‘Why not?’ 

Malfoy pulled up the pajama sleeve on his left arm and thrust it in Harry’s direction, avoiding Harry’s eyes. The Dark Mark was there, black and twisty and horrible. Harry had been right. But he found no joy in that now. Now he just felt … was it sadness? 

Harry made a choice then. It was risky, and probably foolish. 

‘The Mark doesn’t make a difference in whether or not you get helped … For the record ... I don’t believe you accepted it willingly.’ 

Malfoy scoffed. 

‘Well, that’s what I think. And I’d swear on my life that your family would be protected,’ he said, hoping that he truly could follow through with that promise. 

Malfoy’s silvery eyes stared up at him. ‘You would make an Unbreakable Vow?’ 

Harry swallowed, but found himself nodding. ‘Yes. I would.’ 

Malfoy blinked in surprise. Then, the edge of Malfoy’s mouth quirked up, but it wasn’t quite a smile. ‘I wouldn’t ask you ...’ he quietly started to say, before furrowing his brow, as if confused by his own words. 

And, maybe because it was the middle of the night (because in the middle of the night it’s easier to be honest), Malfoy looked off to his right, and, speaking softly, said, ‘The Dark Lord has given me a task. If I don’t do it, he’ll kill me and my family. I’m supposed to …' He groaned suddenly, and rubbed his eyes. 

Harry waited. 

‘I’ve been given an impossible task.’ 

‘What is it?’ Harry asked breathily. 

Malfoy was silent for a few moments. Thinking. 

Harry knew there was absolutely no reason for Malfoy to trust him, to tell him anything. But he hoped— 

Finally, Malfoy seemed to come to a decision. In a neutral tone, he said, ‘I’m supposed to kill Dumbledore. And find a way to let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts.’ 

Harry slumped, burying his face in his hands. It was worse than he could’ve imagined. ‘How far have you gotten?’ 

‘Not far at all.’ Malfoy looked miserable. 

Harry sat back up. ‘Okay,’ he said with some determination. ‘And you’ll let me help you?’ 

Eyeing him warily, he said, ‘Truthfully ... I’m terrified of all my options.’ 

Harry smiled a little. ‘This is where dumb Gryffindor courage comes in handy.’ 

Malfoy rolled his eyes, exhaled, then smiled. It wasn’t very big, and it was clouded in hesitancy and fear, but Harry decided he liked it. It was so much better than a sneer. 

It faded as quickly as it’d come. ‘Why would you help me?’ 

Harry wasn’t really sure himself, but he did know one reason: ‘I want to give you a choice. I … think you deserve one. I’m not sure anyone has ever given you a real choice before.’ 

Malfoy looked away, seeming lost in thought. ‘Perhaps ...’ 

‘So will you? Let me help you?’ 

‘You can try.’ He shook his head, frowning. Then, wincing as if it were painful to say, he said, ‘Yes.’ 

Malfoy’s answer simultaneously sparked joy, terror, and raw determination in Harry. He hoped to all the gods that he could pull it off. 

‘I’m going to Dumbledore. Tonight. Okay? You won’t be able to take it back.’ Harry said, all of a sudden worrying that Malfoy would take it back. Undo everything they’d talked about. 

‘Okay, Potter,’ Malfoy answered, looking very tired. He closed his eyes and arranged himself more comfortably in the bed.

~~

Professor Dumbledore had already been awake, sitting at his desk as if already anticipating Harry’s visit.

Harry told him everything, blabbering on, while Dumbledore watched Harry’s face from behind his half-moon spectacles, wearing a funny little smile. He waited until Harry was done and nearly panting, before he spoke. 

And before long, a plan was set in motion. 

They were going to get Malfoy’s family to a safe house. They were going to protect them, protect _him_. 

Afterwards, Harry caught glimpses of a blossoming purple and orange sunrise through the windows as he rushed by. He could’ve gone back to his dorm room, but he thought Malfoy should know about the meeting straight away. So, he headed back to the hospital wing. 

‘Hey.’ Harry shook Malfoy’s shoulder. ‘I talked to Dumbledore. We’ve got a plan—’ 

Malfoy groaned into his pillow, mumbling, ‘Shut up. ‘M sleeping.’ 

‘But I thought you’d want to know—’ 

‘Tell me in twelve hours, Scarhead.’ 

‘_Twelve_ hours?’ That would be, like, _6pm_. 

Malfoy groaned, cracking open one eyelid to glare at Harry. ‘Lie down. Tell me about it when I wake up. You bastard.’ 

Harry blinked in disbelief, while Malfoy rolled onto his side and soon started breathing softly, like a sleeping person. So, Harry placed his glasses on the nightstand beside Malfoy’s bed, and climbed in under the blankets. If Malfoy chastised him for it later, he could always say Malfoy had told him to. 

It didn’t occur to him, at all, that the whole room was full of empty beds. That maybe Malfoy hadn’t meant for them to share. 

The bed felt warm and inviting from Malfoy’s body heat, the small bed barely accommodated them both, leaving about 5 centimetres between them. He drifted off easily, into a deep sleep.

~~

While lying on his back comfortably, Harry woke up slowly to sunlight blaring through the hospital wing windows. It had to be at least noon. He could feel soft pressure against his leg, and it quickly dawned on him that it was a knee and a foot. Yesterday’s events came flooding back, a confusing hodge-podge of situations and feelings, that left a nervous sort-of weight on Harry’s chest. Draco Malfoy. He’d offered to help him. And, he was currently lying in bed with said person. Currently feeling parts of that person’s leg pressed against his own leg. There were soft sounds of sleeping breaths, coming from Harry’s side. He turned to look, and his breath hitched. Malfoy’s body was facing him, curled up with arms held tight to his chest, and clenched hands tucked under chin, looking rather sleep-ruffled with blond hair in disarray.

Without his glasses on, only Malfoy’s face was in focus, everything else blurry. Harry noticed the arch of Malfoy’s eyebrows, his many eyelashes, the paper-thin eyelids with veins visible under the skin, the tip of his nose, the soft dip of skin between the nose and mouth that you could press a fingertip into. Malfoy’s features were softened, lips slightly parted, and by the looks of it, they had regained their colour. Something in Harry’s chest felt sharp, and, in that moment, he felt he might do anything to keep Malfoy this peaceful. 

What had gotten in to him? 

He didn’t know how long he’d been looking, before Madam Pomfrey came in with heels clacking. He fumbled around for his glasses on the nightstand, and put them on. 

She regarded him, in bed with Malfoy, with pursed lips. ‘Mr Potter.’ 

He smiled sheepishly at the same time as Malfoy began to stretch like a cat, his foot pressing harder into Harry’s leg. 

‘Mm, five more minutes,’ Malfoy mumbled. 

Madam Pomfrey put her hands on her hips. ‘Now, Mr Malfoy, I know you’ve been through quite an ordeal, and I’m quite glad that you and Mr Potter have _reconciled_, but it’s well-past noon and you are due for your next round of potions.’ 

Malfoy’s eyes snapped open, and immediately looked at Harry’s face. His eyes travelled down the bed, registering the fact that Harry’s body was, in fact, underneath the blankets with him on the single bed. He pulled his leg away. 

Harry was beginning to feel rather foolish, expecting to get chewed out at any moment. Possibly shoved. Or worse. 

Instead, Malfoy _blushed_. Red blotchy smudges on his cheeks. 

Then he cleared his throat and sat up in bed, nodding curtly to Madam Pomfrey. He’d buttoned up his pajama top at some point, Harry noted wildly. 

Madam Pomfrey busied herself with getting the potions ready, lining them up on a silver tray, as Harry slid, awkwardly, out from underneath the blankets. 

‘I’ll just—’ he began, making to leave. 

‘I thought you had something to tell me, Potter,’ Malfoy said, not looking at him. 

‘Oh. Right. Yeah. Then I’ll just—’ He sat back down on the bed, over the blanket now. Was the morning after sleeping beside someone always so awkward? _Maybe just with arch-enemies_, he mused, folding his hands in his lap to keep from fidgeting. 

Madam Pomfrey was soon ready with the potions, and Harry watched as Malfoy knocked each of them back with a wrinkled nose. Harry looked away quickly. It was rude to stare. 

‘Very good,’ said Madam Pomfrey. ‘I’ve called the house elves to bring you _both_—’ She shot Harry a look. ‘—some lunch. Mr Malfoy, you can go back to your dorms after you eat. I advise you not to over-exert yourself, and see me again in 24 hours for your next dose, or earlier, if you experience any skin irritation.’ 

Malfoy nodded. ‘Thank you.’ 

A house elf appeared with a pop, carrying a huge tray of roast beef sandwiches and glasses of pumpkin juice. Harry’s stomach growled in anticipation. The elf left with a bow, and, just like that, it was just the two of them alone in the hospital wing again. 

Harry attacked the sandwiches with gusto, Malfoy nibbled away at one, shooting Harry side-eyed glances of mild disgust. 

When Harry’s hunger was satisfied (he’d forgot that he hadn’t eaten for 24 hours), and Malfoy was still nibbling away, Harry filled him in on the meeting with Dumbledore. 

Malfoy nodded along, then was silent for a while afterwards. He flicked breadcrumbs off the blanket with his fingers. 

Harry couldn’t wait any longer. His eyes flitted from Malfoy’s fingers on the blanket, to the soft, thoughtful expression on Malfoy’s face, to his _hair_—nearly white in the midday light and sticking up in all directions. ‘Does your hair always look like that when you wake up?’ 

Malfoy’s eyes snapped to stare at Harry, looked vaguely horrified. ‘Look like _what_?’ He lifted his hands, intending to smooth his hair. 

‘No!’ Harry called, grabbing Malfoy’s wrists before he could. ‘It’s so _messy_.’ 

‘Unhand me, you barbarian!’ 

‘Leave it! It’s messier than _mine_.’ 

Malfoy was scandalized, struggling against Harry’s vice-like grip. ‘Potter, I swear—’ 

And then Harry found himself lying breathlessly on his back, with Malfoy pinning Harry’s wrists to the bed. Malfoy was breathing heavily, with dark eyes glaring down at Harry. 

‘Draco?’ interrupted a female voice. 

Malfoy’s glare on Harry intensified, and he, somewhat reluctantly, released Harry with a final push against his wrists, and leaned back onto his knees to face his visitor. The sheet and blanket were all twisted up around them. 

‘Pansy.’ He ran one hand casually through his hair, leaving it smoothed, but still a little tousled. 

Harry, from his vantage point lying on his back, looked from Malfoy to Parkinson, and back. Parkinson looked like she tasted something sour. 

‘Are you coming back to the dorms today?’ she asked, blatantly ignoring Harry, but Harry suspected she’d hear about his visit later. He wondered what Malfoy would say— 

‘Yes, in fact, Madam Pomfrey has informed me that I’m free to go.’ 

Parkinson’s eyes darted to Harry, eyeing him sharply. ‘Wonderful news.’ 

There was a long pause, as she glared daggers at Harry. 

‘Was there anything else?’ Malfoy asked. 

Parkinson’s gaze flashed back to Malfoy, and, for a moment, they seemed to be communicating non-verbally. 

‘No, I’m sure I’ll see you _shortly_.’ 

Malfoy nodded, and Parkinson spun around, gliding away. 

‘Your girlfriend is intense,’ Harry mused, picking himself up into a sitting position. 

Malfoy looked at him oddly. ‘She isn’t.’ 

‘Isn’t intense?’ 

‘She isn’t my girlfriend.’ 

That was … interesting. To note. ‘Oh.’ 

‘Yes, “oh”.’ Malfoy cleared his throat, looking away. ‘And you, with the Weaslette?’ Malfoy asked casually. Harry noticed his ears looked pink. That was good, probably. Meant he had enough blood now, Harry figured. 

Oh, right, Malfoy had asked a question. _The Weaslette, Weaslette … _Harry blinked at Malfoy a few times. ‘Ginny? Um, no, we’re not …' 

‘Right. Anyway, Potter, I think it’s time I got back.’ Malfoy said, hurriedly, not quite meeting Harry’s eyes. 

‘Right, me too. Hermione and Ron must be wondering where I am …' Malfoy frowned at the mention of their names. 

‘Yes, well, I’m going to get dressed. I’ll see you around, Potter.’ 

Harry hesitated. ‘You will though, right? See me around? We’re sort-of friends now, aren’t we?’ 

‘Sort-of friends,’ Malfoy echoed. ‘Maybe, I don’t know. Whatever. Regardless, you should go.’ 

‘Right, okay, um … see you.’ 

Malfoy didn’t say anything in response. 

Harry wore his cloak back to Gryffindor tower; he didn’t want the attention that wearing pajamas midday might attract. He mentally tried to recap everything, to get it all straight. But Malfoy felt like an enigma. 

It didn’t matter, he told himself. What mattered was that he had earned a semblance of trust, enough for Malfoy to confide in him, to let Harry help him. It made him feel sort-of warm inside, in his chest.

~~

Harry came back to an empty common room. He realised, belatedly, that everyone was at class. He hadn’t meant to skip classes, he hadn’t even thought about them. It was surprising that no one had come to fetch him, though it was possible Professor Dumbledore dismissed him for the day.

Later on, Hermione and Ron woke him from a light nap he was enjoying, in his favourite armchair by the fireplace. They looked worried. 

‘Harry! Where have you _been_?’ said Hermione. 

‘Yeah, mate, what’s been going on? I remembered you had that nightmare last night, then you weren’t in your bed in the morning,’ Ron said, scratching a spot on his temple. ‘We thought you might’ve gone down for breakfast early … but it was like you’d disappeared.’ 

Harry looked at both of his worried friends. He said, carefully, ‘I was in the hospital wing—’ 

‘Oh Harry! Are you alright, were you hurt?’ Hermione said. 

‘No! No, that’s not it at all … I was … You see …' He just _knew_ they weren’t going to understand. And it felt like a private thing—something he wanted to keep all for himself. But … if he was going to be "sort-of-friends" with Malfoy, his best friends were going to have to find out sometime. He bit his lip, then said, ‘I was with Malfoy.’ 

That struck the two of them dumb. 

‘Malfoy,’ Hermione echoed. ‘Why?’ 

‘We talked … I apologised for … well, you know. I ended up sleeping there.’ 

Hermione narrowed her eyes, gears were turning. ‘You spent all night with Draco Malfoy?’ 

Ron’s mouth was open, he was looking from Hermione to Harry and back. 

‘Yeah.’ Harry shrugged. 

‘Malfoy.’ The name sounded bitter coming out of Ron’s mouth. ‘_The_ Malfoy who has been nothing but shit to us, who called Hermione the m-word?’ 

‘Well … yes,’ Harry answered weakly. 

Hermione pursed her lips. 

‘He’s joining our side … I don’t think he wants to be a Death Eater. I offered to … help him,’ Harry added. 

‘What?! Harry, _you’re_ the one who has been insisting all year that Malfoy is up to something!’ she poked a finger at Harry’s chest. ‘You can’t trust him! Don’t you think that whatever this is—with him—could be a trap? I really feel like—like you’re making a terrible mistake!’ 

Something in Harry’s stomach swirled. 

‘I have to agree with Hermione,’ Ron said, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘This is _mental_.’ 

‘It’s fine, okay?’ Harry tried to protest. ‘I’ve spoken to Dumbledore, I’ve told him everything. There’s a plan.’ 

That shut them up a little, to Harry’s relief. Hermione finally relented, ‘Okay Harry, I’m just glad that Dumbledore is aware.’ She sighed. ‘But people don’t _change_, not really, and certainly not overnight.’ 

Harry nodded miserably, not knowing whether or not she was right. 

‘I hope you know what you’re doing, but, well—we always have your back, you know that?’ 

Ron nodded his agreement with Hermione, but Harry could tell he was very opposed to the idea of Harry being friendly with Malfoy. And Harry couldn’t really fault him for it. 

Maybe his friends had a point, maybe he was making a terrible mistake.

~~

Saturday’s detention with Snape came and went, as his thoughts had been full of Malfoy. Wondering if he could really trust Malfoy, wondering if he had done the right thing, wondering when he was going to talk to Malfoy again … He hadn’t really even reacted to Snape’s choice of detention. He didn’t care that the Marauders got into trouble in school—they were just kids.

He returned to the common room afterwards to learn Gryffindor had won Quidditch. Everyone was cheering and celebrating and Harry was just getting his bearings—a bit overwhelmed by the sudden crowd and noise—when Ginny had run at him with a look of determination on her face. Determined about what, he didn’t know. He was surprised, as he watched her approach, and something adjusted in his mind to remind him that he _liked_ Ginny. She was coming at him, big brown eyes sparkling, and pink lips smiling. Ginny was familiar, he told himself. She was undeniably _good_ and trustworthy. She was like family. 

As she approached, a thought passed through his mind for a moment—that he could kiss her, it had been what he’d wanted for a long time, hadn’t it? She was single now, and so was he. So, he did. She’d leapt into his arms … and he brought their lips together, and … it wasn’t bad. 

The following days passed by quickly; Harry didn’t get a chance to speak to Malfoy. 

In Potions class, Malfoy had been alone at a workstation. It was the perfect opportunity—they could partner up. They could talk. He started off towards him, when Hermione grabbed his arm. 

‘Partner with me, Harry?’ 

‘Um …’ he said, his eyes flashing over to the back of Malfoy’s blond head. He got ready to protest—but at that moment, Blaise Zabini parked himself down beside Malfoy. ‘Yeah, okay,’ he finished, disappointed. 

Other times, Harry tried to seek him out, but every time the opportunity seemed to strike, Hermione found something to distract him with. Things like: an essay due in a week, a personal favour (‘Please, Harry, will you bring this box of cookies over to Hagrid? I would, but I’m just so swamped with schoolwork.’), or an appeal to spend more time with Ron (‘He’s feeling a bit neglected, Harry.’) 

Harry was beginning to suspect Hermione had an ulterior motive to all these interruptions. 

Although there was one time that Harry and Malfoy made eye contact across the Great Hall, and Malfoy had nodded at him. It made Harry feel warm inside. He’d smiled, and Malfoy had blinked back at him, his face softening. The edge of his mouth quirked up a little bit. It had left Harry feeling breathless. And Hermione had noticed the whole thing. 

She liked to remind him with little hints from time to time that he couldn’t trust Malfoy (‘Remember when Malfoy dressed as a Dementor to frighten you?’), and Harry could admit to himself that there was a chance, a small chance that she was right, that Malfoy was still dangerous. But all he had to do was remember that nod, that little smile, or Malfoy crying on the bed, or his foot against Harry’s leg, and those doubts got blurry. 

Ron, on the other hand, was avoiding the subject of Malfoy at all costs. 

Weeks passed by: full of classes, and detentions, and Ginny. And it was fine, it all felt very _normal_. 

Until Professor Dumbledore called Harry into his office.

~~

‘I’ve forgot my Charms assignment,’ Harry lied.

Hermione nodded, distracted by looking in her bag for a stick of lip balm as they walked to class. 

‘I’ll meet you guys there,’ Harry added. 

‘Okay mate,’ said Ron. 

Harry made to go back to the Tower, then ducked into an alcove to throw on his Invisibility cloak. Mental that he had to go through all this, just to talk to Malfoy. 

He raced through the halls, carefully rushing past Hermione and Ron, so as not to brush up against them. He wound through the hallways, eyes searching. Then, he saw it: the flash of white-blond hair. 

He tore off his cloak and stuffed it in his bag. 

‘Malfoy!’ Harry called after Malfoy’s retreating back, proud of himself for having successfully given Hermione and Ron the slip. He felt a little thrill high in his chest. ‘Malfoy, wait up!’ 

Malfoy whirled, his silver eyes flashing with mirth. ‘What do you want?’ 

Taken aback, Harry stopped in his tracks; he’d thought everything was good between them. ‘I need to speak to you …’ He licked his lips. ‘I have news.’ 

Malfoy sized him up. ‘Deigning to speak with me today, hmm? Must be important.’ 

Harry didn’t get it. ‘What? We could speak any day—’ Well, if Hermione and Ron would just _let him_. 

‘Too busy snogging the Weaslette, I’d wager.’ 

Harry felt a blush heat his cheeks. ‘It isn’t ...’ 

‘It isn’t what?’ 

_Like that_, he’d almost said. Though that would be an outright lie. He didn’t know why he felt so defensive. And, fuck, there was something more important to talk about than his relationship with Ginny. 

Harry took a breath. ‘Can’t we just, you know, go someplace private?’ 

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. ‘Fine.’ He _Alohamora_-ed an empty classroom nearby, and held the door open with a bitter, ‘After you.’ 

Malfoy sat on top of a desk, his long legs dangling. Harry noticed his heartrate had increased somewhere along the line. Why was he so uncomfortable? Oh right, because he thought they were sort-of-friends, and now Malfoy was treating him like he used to, and Harry _hated_ it. 

He sat in a chair a few spaces away from Malfoy, and decided to ignore whatever he was feeling and get down to business. 

‘Your parents have been extracted.’ He winced immediately, hating how impersonal that sounded as soon as he said it. 

It got Malfoy’s attention though. His gaze snapped to Harry. ‘What do you know?’ 

Harry bit at his bottom lip. ‘They were _Portkey_-ed out ... They’ve been taken to a safe house in southern France.’ 

Malfoy turned his face away from Harry and breathed a sigh of relief. 

‘The thing is …' Harry continued, hesitantly. ‘They’d refused to go.’ 

Malfoy looked at him intensely, all grey eyes boring into him, but said nothing. 

‘They refused to leave you, so they had to be taken … forcefully. And now they’re being guarded by French Aurors … in France …' 

Miserably, Harry braced himself for Malfoy to be angry, to say he should never have trusted Harry. It’d been stupid of him to get excited about having a real, proper excuse to talk to Malfoy. Of course it wouldn’t go well. He looked down at his hands, gripping his own thighs. He’d fucked this all up. Malfoy had depended on him … and now Malfoy was just going to go back to despising him. 

‘I see,’ was what he said, instead. 

Harry looked at him in surprise. ‘Are you … upset?’ 

Malfoy sucked in his bottom lip, and when he released it, it shined a little with saliva. ‘No. All I want is for them to survive, to live through this.’ 

Harry watched Malfoy, with legs swinging up on that desk, and a thoughtful expression on his face. If only Ron and Hermione could see him like this, then they’d know what Harry knew, that Malfoy was not terribly _bad_. 

‘Is there anything else?’ Malfoy asked, his tone had lost its edge. 

Harry shook his head. ‘That’s all I know.’ His mind searched for something else to say, something to let Malfoy know that he really did want to be actual friends … 

Malfoy nodded. ‘Thank you, for telling me. I hadn’t heard from my mother in days, I was beginning to worry. This is … a relief.’ 

Harry nodded, sucking in a breath. ‘I’m glad …' 

Malfoy hopped off the desk and made for the door. ‘See you around, Potter.’ 

Before Harry could answer, could say _something_, he was gone. 

He was fifteen minutes late to Charms. Hermione shot him a questioning look, he returned it with a shrug of his shoulders and slipped into the empty seat beside Neville.

~~

A few days later, Dumbledore summoned Harry on a mission to find a Horcrux. On the way, he told Harry that he was dying, that he’d been dying for a while now. It was from the ring on his hand.

Harry didn’t want to hear it, couldn’t believe it, and tried to insist that surely something could be done. Dumbledore calmly told him about the Unbreakable Vow between Professor Snape and Narcissa Malfoy. 

When they returned, with the locket, and Dumbledore weakened and sick, Dumbledore inexplicably commanded Harry to cast _Expelliarmus_ on him. 

Moments later, Snape was there to kill Dumbledore. 

The next coming days were full of profound grief, indescribable loss, and the foreboding idea that if Dumbledore could die, couldn’t any of them? Who else would Harry have to lose in this fight against Voldemort? Ron? Hermione? Malfoy? Ginny? It was enough to paralyse someone. He was going to have to do this alone, to protect everyone important to him—to keep them safe. 

It was the morning of the funeral. The four houses were marched in columns down to the grounds. His mentor—his friend—was dead. Just thinking anything about Dumbledore made tears well up in his eyes. 

Draco Malfoy had been commanded to kill Dumbledore. By knowing this, by telling Dumbledore, it was supposed to have prevented it. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. 

They sat out in chairs by the lake; Harry, Ginny, Hermione and Ron together. It was a beautiful summer’s day: the sun was shining bright amidst fluffy clouds and blue sky, it shone over the vibrant green grass, and sparkling, still lake. The merpeople sang. Someone Harry didn’t know spoke a eulogy. Dumbledore’s body was entombed, and arrows were fired into the air. 

Then, Harry broke up with Ginny, told her there were things he was going to have to do alone now. 

‘I knew this would happen in the end. I knew you wouldn’t be happy unless you were hunting Voldemort. Maybe that’s why I like you so much,’ said Ginny. 

He didn’t think that was fair. He didn’t derive any happiness out of hunting Voldemort. It just felt like … duty. Harry got up, turned his back on Ginny, Ron, Hermione, Dumbledore’s tomb, and the lot of them. He set off to walk around the lake. To clear his head. 

After a few long moments, when the chatter from the funeral became a distant buzz, replaced by the soothing sounds of the lake lapping against the shore, and Harry felt he could _breathe_ again, he heard a voice, out of breath, calling, ‘Harry!’ 

He whirled, and to his shock, was faced with a jogging Draco Malfoy. ‘Did you just call me—’ 

‘Never mind that,’ Malfoy said, waving a hand dismissively. He walked the last few paces so that they were standing close, eye to eye. ‘I want you to know that I didn’t kill him.’ 

Harry looked at him now, really looked. There was a desperation there, an anxiety in Malfoy’s demeanor. All rigid posture and wide, wild eyes. The white-blond strands of his hair fluttered in the soft breeze. ‘I know you didn’t kill Dumbledore. I was there. When it happened.’ He blinked at Malfoy. ‘You thought I would think you killed him?’ 

Malfoy sucked in a breath. ‘I—Well, since I was the one that was supposed to do it—I wanted you to be sure. That it wasn’t me. Though … me just telling you, might not have been much to go on anyway. Though you say you were there, so, I guess I don’t have to prove it …' 

Malfoy was babbling. Harry could hardly believe it. Was he really so nervous? 

‘It’s fine, I know,’ Harry said. 

‘I’m … I’m sorry. I know he was important to you.’ 

Harry smiled a little, despite himself, despite the circumstances. ‘Thank you,’ he said softly. 

‘I suppose you’ll be off on some death-defying hero’s mission shortly.’ Malfoy said, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. 

Harry tried not to look at Malfoy’s mouth. ‘Ah … yes, I suppose you could say that.’ It struck him suddenly that he didn’t know what Malfoy would do. ‘Um, where will you be?’ 

Malfoy’s gaze dropped down to his own feet, as he shrugged. ‘Well, I’ve made myself an enemy of the Dark Lord. I’m told I can either go be with my parents in France, or, I can stay here. I decided to stay here. At Hogwarts.’ 

Harry felt a rush of … pride? ‘That’s really quite brave of you, Malfoy ... are you sure you shouldn’t be in Gryffindor?’ he teased. 

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. ‘Certainly not.’ 

Then he smiled, slowly, so that it lit up his face. And that just made Harry smile too. Then they were just goofily smiling at each other, albeit shyly, tentatively. 

Malfoy broke the silence first, his expression sobering. ‘Since I won’t be going back on the train, I’d like to … to say goodbye now.’ 

Harry’s heart started to pick up speed. ‘Okay.’ 

Malfoy took a step closer. Harry sucked in a breath. 

‘Harry!’ came Hermione’s voice from the distance. 

Malfoy looked over his shoulder at Harry’s approaching friends, then back at Harry. ‘I just wanted to remind you,’ he said hurriedly, ‘not to die.’ 

Harry smiled. ‘I’ll try not to.’ 

‘I mean it. Don’t die,’ he said with a stern look, staring straight into Harry’s eyes. Then Malfoy leaned forward, and placed a quick kiss on Harry’s cheek. The kiss made a soft smacking noise, and felt tingly, so much so that it lingered afterwards on his cheek. And Harry felt goosebumps and confusion and excitement all at once. 

‘For luck,’ Draco murmured, blushing furiously, before swinging around and hurrying back to the funeral, passing Harry’s bewildered friends, with hands stuffed deep in his pockets and head tilted down.

~~

But Harry did die.

Many grueling months later, at the hand of Voldemort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I took
> 
> _‘No one can help me,’ said Malfoy. His whole body was shaking. ‘I can’t do it … I can’t … It won’t work … and unless I do it soon … he says he’ll kill me …'_
> 
> and 
> 
> _'I knew this would happen in the end. I knew you wouldn’t be happy unless you were hunting Voldemort. Maybe that’s why I like you so much,’ said Ginny_
> 
> straight from the book.
> 
> Thank you for reading so far ❤️ feedback is welcome (especially since no one reads this over besides me) [my tumblr](https://eelwinks.tumblr.com/)


	2. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Remix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning: one alcoholic cocoa, more swears

When Neville brought Harry, Hermione and Ron into Hogwarts through Aberforth’s secret passageway, he filled them in on the state of the school. Under the control of the Carrows, many of them had been forced into hiding. 

‘Where is Malfoy?’ Harry asked quickly, interrupting Neville mid-sentence. It was well-known by now that Draco had betrayed Voldemort, and Hogwarts wasn’t as safe as everyone had thought. If the Carrows knew about Draco—and surely they would? It was unimaginable what they would do to him. He’d worried about Draco for months. He’d lost countless hours of sleep worrying. 

‘The Room of Requirement, like many of us,’ Neville replied. Harry exhaled audibly—in relief, immense relief. ‘We’ve been fighting them, doing underground stuff. Draco’s been helping with that—his knowledge of the Dark Arts is a real advantage.’ 

_Draco_. It was a name he turned over and over in his head but hadn’t yet said out loud. And now he knew Draco was alive and safe. 

They piled into the Room of Requirement, met with cheers and screams of their names. They were surrounded by a hoard of their schoolmates, hugged and ruffled and clapped on the back. Neville got them to back up, to give them some space. 

Then, over a few sets of shoulders, Harry spotted Draco. He stood a distance away, eyes wide and holding a book open in one hand, as if he had been reading before unconsciously standing, forgetting all about the book he held up. 

Harry pushed through the crowd. 

‘Hi,’ he said. He resisted the urge to hug him, since, well, … they didn’t hug. 

Draco’s lip quirked up. ‘Still alive, I see.’ 

Harry shrugged, smiling a little bashfully. ‘So far so good.’ 

They looked each other over, from head to toe, confirming that the other was whole. Draco looked good. Healthy. Maybe a bit taller, even. His hair was down to his chin, now. 

Then Seamus pulled Harry into a huge hug from behind, forcing an, ‘Oof,’ out of him, while dragging Harry back in to the crowd. Everyone wanted to talk all at once. 

But Harry kept finding himself looking for Draco, and when he found him, Draco always looked back.

~~

Soon they were off, to destroy the remaining Horcruxes.

And before long, Voldemort made the call for Harry to enter the Forest. 

Initially they had all refused to give in to Voldemort’s demand, Harry included, until Harry saw Snape’s final message in Dumbledore’s pensieve: Harry was going to have to die, so that Voldemort could die. 

He threw on his Invisibility cloak and walked through the Hogwarts halls, for the very last time. It was deserted; everyone was crowded in the Great Hall, drinking and crying and mourning the dead, alongside the dead. 

He ran into Neville unexpectedly. Harry had one last important message to give him: ‘Kill Nagini, kill the snake.’ 

Draco must have heard, from wherever he’d been, because he grabbed at Harry as he had just exited the front doors onto the grounds. Draco managed to pull the cloak off, letting it flutter to the ground. 

‘Harry—’ Draco said, pleading, desperate, distraught. 

‘Draco, don’t. Please, you have to let me go,’ he spoke as calm and gentle as he could muster. 

‘Never,’ Draco said, tears welling up in his eyes, and his voice coming out choked. ‘You can’t—we can fight him. Don’t give up.’ 

‘I’m not giving up. This is something I have to do—’ Harry said, trying to back away. His eyes pleading with Draco to stop, to not make it any harder than it has to be ... 

‘You can’t sacrifice yourself! I told you not to die! It isn’t an option!’ Draco said, grabbing on to Harry’s forearm tightly, keeping him from taking any more steps. 

‘Draco … I know it’s hard but, trust me, there _isn’t_ another option here …' 

‘You can’t die! You can’t!’ Draco’s eyes were wide; tears were freely falling down his face now. ‘I can’t live in a world where you don’t exist!’ 

That nearly crushed him, but Harry had to persevere. ‘You can and you will,’ he said firmly, miserably. ‘_Petrificus totalus._’ 

Draco’s body stiffened, Harry caught him before he could fall, and set him down gently. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, touching his palm gently to Draco’s chest. Over his heart. 

Then Harry sent a _Patronus_ to Neville, to let him know to release Draco from the spell … once Harry had left. And to keep Draco from coming after him. 

Tears continued to spill down Draco’s frozen cheeks. 

And then Harry picked up his cloak and walked to his death.

~~

But Harry’s blood was in Voldemort’s body, and in it, Lily’s protection. It tethered Harry to life.

Wormtail, who owed Harry a life debt, was tasked with checking on him. 

‘Dead,’ the man lied. 

And then Harry was _Crucio_-ed, and tossed about, before being scooped up and carried back to the castle in a sniveling Hagrid’s arms. 

At the castle, Harry heard wails and screams of ‘NO!’s and ‘HARRY!’s. Then Neville Longbottom confronted Voldemort. Harry peered out from behind his eyelashes to watch. There were so many people. His friends, his teachers, his classmates. Professor Flitwick, Dean, Hermione, Ron … And then he saw Draco, weeping into his hands; Luna Lovegood had her arms around his waist to hold him up. 

Voldemort set the Sorting Hat aflame atop Neville’s head, and Grawp stormed in, the centaurs stampeded, and chaos ignited amongst the crowd. It was the perfect cover for Harry to pull on his Invisibility cloak. 

A fierce battle raged, which migrated into the Great Hall. Harry followed, finally revealing himself to Voldemort, and watching as Voldemort’s _Avada kedavra_ backfired. Harry Potter was the true master of the Elder wand, having cast _Expelliarmus_ on Dumbledore before he had died. Dumbledore had planned it all ... he'd helped Harry immeasurably, even in death.

And so it was over. Just like that. Years of fear and fighting, profound loss, and always looking over his shoulder. 

There was a flurry of cheers, of hugs, of tears. Harry was disoriented, tugged and pulled and embraced. 

‘I’d want peace and quiet if it were me,’ said Luna. 

‘I’d like that,’ Harry said, grateful to be understood. 

‘Use your cloak, I’ll make a distraction.’

~~

Harry was going to get Ron and Hermione and leave the hall. It had been the three of them for so long. They had endured so much together.

But his eyes caught on a white-blond head. It was Draco, of course, sitting on a bench by himself in a quieter corner facing away from everyone, hunched over with his hands covering his face. 

Harry pushed through, past the mourners and celebrators, the living and the dead, and knelt at Draco’s feet. He removed his cloak, tucking it away, and wrapped his hands gently around Draco’s forearms. 

Draco startled, then peered down at Harry, between his fingers. 

‘It’s over now,’ Harry said softly. 

Draco nodded from behind his hands; his eyes bright with tears. 

Without warning, Draco leapt into Harry’s arms, down on the floor, almost knocking Harry onto his back. Draco’s knees were flush against the side of Harry’s thighs, as he grabbed on to Harry tight, with one arm wrapped around his shoulders, another hand buried in Harry’s hair. And Draco nuzzled his head; his nose buried in the black curls, breathing in shakily. 

Harry wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist, and, not knowing what else to do, rubbed gently in an up/down motion. 

Draco’s body was quivering, shaking like a leaf. It was getting wet in Harry’s hair, he realised: Draco was still crying. 

‘It’s alright,’ Harry said. ‘We made it through.’ 

‘I thought you were dead,’ Draco said, his mouth moving against Harry’s scalp, with a voice wobbly and wet-sounding. 

‘I’m alive. And so are you,’ Harry affirmed. 

They stayed like that for a while. Harry felt Draco’s body ease, as he sunk deeper into Harry’s arms. He was gripping Harry less like a near-drowner clutching a buoy, and more like a person holding on to something precious, something delicate. His tears slowed and then stopped altogether. His breath evened out, against Harry’s scalp and the top of his ear. 

Harry didn’t want to let go. After so much danger, so much uncertainty, so many months of searching and not knowing how he was going to survive—he was finally now feeling safe. Feeling free. But one glance over at the Weasleys, who were crying and holding each other, reminded him that it wasn’t really over. Fred Weasley was dead, along with so many others. There would be funerals, there would be mourning. It was going to be hard. 

And Harry should go to them, the Weasleys and Hermione, his family. 

He started to pull back, and Draco let him. Their arms dropped to their sides. 

Facing each other now, Harry could see the wetness on Draco’s face. But he looked calmer, softer. 

Harry gently wiped the tears off the smooth skin of Draco’s cheeks with his thumbs, while his fingertips kept balance on Draco’s temples. He didn’t think—he just did it. Draco let him, just looking at him, and then parted his lips as if he was going to say something. 

‘I should get back to the Weasleys,’ Harry said, dropping his hands, because ... it was true. 

Draco closed his mouth, licked his lips, and nodded. 

Harry stood up. So did Draco. 

‘Have a nice life, Harry Potter,’ Draco said softly, smiling sadly. 

Harry hesitated. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ 

Draco shrugged. ‘Exactly what it sounds like. The war is over now, and … I … I may not see you again.’ 

‘Why wouldn’t you?’ Harry demanded, startled and uneasy. 

Draco looked him in the eye. ‘I’m going to France to find my parents. And if they don’t kill me for what I’ve done,’ he said, laughing a little, ‘I’m not sure we’ll come back to the UK. The Manor will be ruined … I shudder to think of what _he_ did to it. Regardless, I don’t think we will want to go back there.’ 

Harry frowned. ‘No,’ he said simply. He didn’t do all this—he hadn’t come all this way just to— 

‘No?’ 

‘I’ll go with you. To France,’ he found himself saying. 

‘Harry—you really can’t. Your place is here, with them,’ Draco said, nodding towards the Weasleys. 

‘I’m going. Just wait, until the … funerals are over. We’ll go, together,’ Harry insisted. 

‘Harry, I can’t wait, I have nowhere to stay … And I _will not_ go back to the Manor.' He looked significantly into Harry's eyes. 'I can’t stay here.' 

‘Please … you can stay with me, with us, at the Burrow. Molly will agree.’ 

Draco shook his head. ‘I do not think—’ 

‘C’mon, we’ll ask,’ Harry said, tugging on Draco’s arm. 

‘I really do not want to intrude—’ Draco hissed. 

Harry pulled Draco up to the Weasleys. 

‘Oh, Harry,’ said Molly, crying, wrapping him up tight in a bear hug. 

‘_Molly_,' he exhaled. The depth of his grief, of all his empathy and his love for her and her family in that one word. They held each other for a long moment. 'Can Draco stay with us at the Burrow for a little while?’ he asked, muffled a bit by the cloud of red hair in his face. 

Molly pulled back and looked at Draco, sniffling. ‘Oh of course, you’re very welcome to stay with us dear.’ 

Draco looked like he was trying to smile, despite his hesitation. ‘Thank you … Mrs Weasley.’ 

‘Don’t be silly,’ she sniffled, wiping a hand over her tear-stained cheeks. ‘Call me Molly!’

~~

The walk on the dirt path up to the Burrow’s front door was a sombre affair. They were returning without one important person.

Harry hung back with Draco, and felt Draco’s eyes on him. But Harry was watching the Weasleys’ backs, reading the tension there, the loss, written right on their bodies. He wished … he wished he could do something. 

Molly broke off from the group, and stood still, watching Harry, just to the side of the path. Once he’d caught up to her, she placed a hand on his upper arm, and said in a low voice, ‘Harry dear, George doesn’t want to sleep in his room.’ 

Harry nodded at her. _Oh God, Fred’s bed would be empty._ He tried not to cry. There’d be time for that—later. When Molly didn’t have to see it. He didn’t want to make her cry. 

‘Will you, and Draco, sleep in there instead? I think George will be more comfortable in with Ron for a little while.’ 

‘Of course,’ Harry answered. At this point, he’d do anything she asked of him. 

She smiled at him, with sadness apparent in her eyes. ‘Thank you, dear.’ 

The front door still had the Flutterby bushes, along with the crooked wooden sign that read _The Burrow_. They entered through the front door, single file, into one of the few places that had ever felt like home to Harry. But now, now it was just not quite the same. 

Molly burst into a wail when she found Fred’s silver hand had fallen from the Weasley clock. It was probably the worst sound Harry had ever had to hear.

~~

They didn’t know what to do with themselves, hovering around in the living room, until Percy was the first one to break off.

‘Going to take a nap,’ he mumbled. 

George, Charlie, and Bill left the room shortly after. ‘Going for a walk,’ Charlie had said to the room. 

Harry took one look at Ron and Ginny with their arms around a crying Molly, looked at Hermione and Arthur staring blankly into the fire, before turning to Draco. 

Sat in a paisley-patterned armchair, Draco’s head was bowed, and he had his hands folded in his lap. 

Harry leaned in close to his ear. ‘I’ll show you where we’re sleeping?’ 

Draco nodded, peering up at Harry. So, they got up and collected their trunks from beside the front door. Draco trailed behind Harry silently, as they ascended the creaky stairs. 

Once in Fred and George’s room, Harry shut the door after the two of them and set his trunk at the base of Fred’s bed. The air in there still smelled of gunpowder from the twins’ experiments, and the floor still littered with cardboard boxes like a warehouse—though it wasn’t the most crowded Harry’d seen it. Draco carefully sidestepped a box, and set his trunk down near the far wall, and looked around the room at all the bits and bobs, the Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes merchandise peeking out of open boxes, and the Muggle music posters on the walls. He wrung his hands. 

Harry was staring at Fred’s bed. And then, he was trying not to stare at it. 

‘Are you alright?’ asked Draco. ‘I mean, considering?’ 

Draco looked anxious, and terribly earnest. ‘I think so,’ Harry answered, and tried to smile. 

Draco nodded. ‘It feels like I shouldn’t be here.’ 

Frowning, Harry took a step closer to him. ‘I want you here.’ 

‘You do? Why?’ Draco seemed to be trying to read something in Harry's expression. 

_Why?_ Harry looked around, his eye caught on a miniature Quidditch player, flying loops around the wardrobe. He shrugged, and met Draco’s eyes. ‘I just do.’ _Poetic, eloquent, informative_—Draco should sarcastically say. 

Instead, Draco nodded. ‘Alright.’ 

Harry smiled, relieved. 

‘Which one is Fred’s bed?’ Draco asked. 

Harry’s smile dropped again, and he pointed. 

‘Ah.’ 

Harry scratched a spot on his head. ‘Yeah, um, I think I’ll have a shower, then. You’ll be okay to …’ he looked around—nothing here seemed entertaining for a Malfoy. ‘You’ll be okay to hang out, or?’ 

Draco nodded. ‘Yeah, maybe I’ll nap for a bit, or read.’ 

‘Okay, yeah. That’s good.’ He grabbed some clean clothes from his trunk and went to the bathroom for a long, long hot shower. 

When he was done, he peeked in the bedroom to find Draco asleep on George’s bed. So he went downstairs to see what was going on. It was more of the same, really. Crying … sitting around. He joined the occupants of the living room, sitting on the couch beside Hermione. 

The wireless was on, playing Celestina Warbeck. Molly was still crying, so was Ginny. 

Harry was beginning to feel almost claustrophobic. Not quite, just … he could use some air. He’d been so used to camping in the Forest of Dean, the silence there, the open spaces, that he was finding the Burrow difficult to bear at the moment. 

He quietly slipped outside, side-stepping a fat brown hen pecking at the ground, and found a flat spot to sit cross-legged in the dirt, overlooking the golden tall grass as it swayed in the breeze, under a vast blue sky. He let his eyes wander—looking out at the endless stretch of land—no other houses in sight. Vultures circled in the sky in the distance. Perhaps an animal had died there, somewhere in the tall grass. 

He took a deep breath of fresh air. It was silent, save for the rustling of the grass. 

Now he was alone. Now he could think. 

His heart lurched. 

So many people had just died. It almost didn’t seem real, yet. 

Fred wasn’t here. He was supposed to be here. In his family home. Safe. 

A lump formed in Harry’s throat, and he rapidly blinked his stinging eyes to keep them from watering. 

Harry heard the front door open with a creak. He turned his head to find Draco shyly padding over towards him. 

‘Can I sit with you?’ he asked, standing just to Harry’s right. 

Harry squinted up at him. With the sun nearly behind his head, it cast a glowing halo around the man’s blond hair. ‘Yeah. Of course.’ 

Draco settled himself down on the ground, crossing his legs loosely and leaning back on his hands. Their knees touched, just barely. 

‘You’re sitting in the dirt,’ blurted Harry, staring at Draco’s immaculately tailored trousers, and, his bare feet. Pale, narrow feet with barely-there light blond hairs on the big toes. Harry looked down at his own ripped jeans and old scuffed trainers. 

Draco shrugged. ‘I don’t mind.’ 

The surrealism of the situation struck Harry, seemingly out of nowhere. Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy, was in the dirt, at _the Burrow_ (home of the boy he teased for being poor for _years_), in the dirt not far from a couple of fat chickens. This elegant man, with his long limbs and paleness and smooth skin, whose family had a mansion. Draco, in the dirt. 

‘I thought you’d be too posh for that,’ he said in a way he hoped came across as friendly, rather than rude. 

Draco smiled, a sad, soft smile, and squinted out at the swaying grass. ‘Perhaps I’m not as posh as I was. Perhaps I stopped being so posh when I was stuck in one room with Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs for the better part of a year.’ 

Smiling and biting his lip, Harry couldn’t really picture it, though he knew it to be true. ‘What was it like?’ 

He watched Draco’s features twist into a grimace, with undertones of amusement. 

‘Cramped. Loud,’ he said. Then, his expression softened. ‘But it was nice as well. Nice being part of it—being on the _good_ side.’ 

Harry nodded, unable to take his eyes away from Draco’s face. 

‘It took a while, but it got to the point I felt _useful_. Felt like I was doing something for the greater good.’ Draco smiled softly. ‘The others came to, well, trust me. At least, I hope.’ He exhaled. ‘That was …' 

Draco didn’t finish. 

Harry thought he understood anyway, and bumped his shoulder against Draco’s. ‘I kind of wish I’d been there.’ 

Draco smiled. ‘Me too.’ 

They sat in companionable silence, looking out at the landscape. Those vultures weren’t in the air anymore. 

‘It’s over,’ Harry exhaled. 

Draco picked up Harry’s hand from his lap and squeezed it. He didn’t drop it, instead he cradled it in his own lap. ‘Yes.’ 

No more Voldemort. 

But, no more Fred. 

No more being hunted. 

But, no more Moony. Tonks. Dobby. Hedwig … 

The dam finally burst and he began to cry. His whole body shook with it, like the grief was being ripped right out of him. He cried from loss, but it was also for freedom. 

Draco draped an arm over his shoulders and pulled him close, still holding Harry’s hand. He just waited patiently while Harry blubbered into his shirt, into his neck. 

When he was all cried out, he felt better. Like a weight had lifted, even if only by a bit. He pushed himself off from Draco’s chest, and the arm over his shoulders dropped. 

‘Thanks,’ he said, wiping his eyes with the back of a hand. ‘It seems like all we do is cry around each other.’ 

Draco snorted. ‘We’ve had reason to, we were children in the center of a war.’ 

‘Yes.’ It dawned on him, with a funny lurch in his chest, that his palm was on Draco’s thigh now. He didn’t remove it, though. 

Draco started to trace the outlines of Harry’s fingernails with a fingertip. It felt … nice. 

‘We haven’t really ever had a proper conversation, have we? You and I?’ Harry asked, then. ‘We’ve fought or cried or talked about the war … but we haven’t just talked, right?’ 

Draco hummed. ‘I suppose.’ He was meticulously running a fingertip along the lengths of each of Harry’s fingers in turn. 

Harry searched his mind for something they could talk about. Something light. ‘What’s your favourite dessert?’ 

‘Chocolate.’ 

‘You can’t just say chocolate, that’s not specific at all—’ 

Draco hmphed. ‘Läderach chocolates from Switzerland, then. Specific enough?’ 

Harry laughed. ‘Fine. Mine is—’ 

‘Treacle tart. Easy.’ Draco turned Harry’s hand over, palm up. 

That gave Harry pause. Maybe they knew each other better than he thought.

‘What did you use to want to do, for a career, when you were a kid?’ Harry asked, watching Draco’s finger trace the lines on his palm. It tickled, and he twitched. 

Draco sighed. ‘Quidditch. But I’m not good enough.’ 

‘You’re plenty good enough!’ 

‘I never beat you.’ 

Harry grinned. ‘Well you’re talking about the youngest Seeker in a century.’ 

Draco rolled his eyes. 

‘Seriously though, if you spent less time taunting me, and more time _trying_ to catch the Snitch, you probably could’ve won a couple.’ 

Draco snorted. ‘Perhaps.’ 

‘Well, what do you want to do for a career now?’ 

‘No idea,’ Draco answered, wiggling the tips of each of Harry’s fingers now, as if he were testing their flexibility. ‘You?’ 

‘I thought I would become an Auror.’ It had been his automatic answer for years. 

Draco nodded. ‘Yes, I’m sure that’s what everyone expects. You’d certainly be good at it.’ 

‘I’m not so sure I want to, though,’ he realised as he said the words. _More_ fighting? _More_ danger and curses and running after “bad guys”? It sounded exhausting.

‘Then don’t,’ said Draco, simply. 

Harry looked out at the swaying grass, looked out at the fluffy clouds floating by. _Then don’t_. Okay. He could laugh. Yeah, Voldemort’s dead, and Harry was alive. Now he could live. He could do … whatever he wanted, now. 

What else was there, though? What had he liked in school? Not Potions, not Herbology, not Care of Magical Creatures or Divination. 

The DA? Yeah … maybe? 

‘Maybe I’ll teach,’ he blurted out, surprising himself. 

Draco paused his testing of Harry’s hand mobility. ‘I can see that. You were good at your … what did you call it?—Dumbledore’s Army. Or at least, I heard you were.’ 

Remembering what it felt like to see Patronuses flying around the Room of Requirement, knowing that _he_ helped make that happen—Harry smiled. 

‘I was a bit jealous of your secret club.’ 

Harry’s smile widened. ‘Yeah? Did you wish you could’ve joined?’ 

‘_Imagine_ if I’d asked? I suppose you would have just laughed in my face.’ 

Draco had a point, Harry supposed. He sighed. ‘Well. I wouldn’t now.’ 

Harry took his hand back, since Draco seemed done with it, and placed the other—rather neglected—one on Draco’s thigh. He wiggled his fingers until Draco started to touch it, tracing the lines on his palm with a fingernail. 

‘Have you ever travelled?’ Harry asked. 

‘Yeah, a little. Around Europe, mostly. And I went to South Africa once.’ Draco pressed his thumbs into Harry’s palm, massaging from the center outwards. ‘Have you?’ 

‘No, never. Never been out of the UK.’ 

Draco hummed. ‘Well, now you can, I suppose.’ 

‘France first.’ 

‘France first,’ Draco echoed breathily. 

‘Tell me about the places you’ve been to.’ 

He did. Draco spoke about Michelangelo’s sculptures and black cherry gelato in Italy, the Concertgebouworkest and tompouce in the Netherlands, the Matterhorn and raclette in Switzerland … 

Until the front door creaked open and Hermione walked over to them, with two steaming mugs in one hand, and a plate of sandwiches in the other. Her hair was frizzy and escaping from her hair tie on the sides. The darkness under her eyes betrayed her tiredness. Though, Harry supposed they were all exhausted. 

Draco dropped Harry’s hand. 

‘Not much of a dinner,’ Hermione said, shrugging her shoulders a bit after placing the items at their feet. 

‘Thanks,’ Harry said. ‘Should we go inside?’ 

Hermione sat cross-legged in front of them. ‘No. We’re all spread out, doing our own thing.’ 

Harry nodded, and picked up a mug to take a sip. Hot cocoa, laced with … was that brandy? 

With her fingertips idly brushing over the dirt near her feet, Hermione glanced from Draco to Harry, and back. ‘Malfoy … thank you for all that you did this year. Neville said you were a big help.’ 

‘You’re …' started Draco, wide-eyed. ‘You’re thanking me? I should thank _you_—’ 

Hermione waved a hand at him dismissively. Harry took a long sip of alcoholic cocoa. 

Draco clamped his mouth shut, and picked at a loose thread on the seam of his trousers. Then he looked back at her properly. ‘Really I should … I should apologise.’ 

Hermione smiled softly. 

‘I’ve been horrible, to you all, but to you especially. I’m … I’m very sorry.’ 

She nodded curtly. ‘I forgive you.’ 

Harry took another gulp of cocoa, smiling against the mug’s rim. 

‘You do?’ Draco breathed. 

She nodded again. ‘And I should also apologise … for coming between you two in 6th year. I wasn't sure Harry should trust you … and I made him stay away. I see now that that was a mistake.’ 

Draco blinked at her, Harry wasn’t sure if it was from awe or disbelief. ‘That’s—well, that’s alright,’ he managed, and Harry noticed the tips of his ears had gotten pink. 

‘Well,’ she said, slapping her thighs and making to stand up, ‘I best get back to Ron. See you two later.’ 

‘Thanks for the food!’ Harry called after her retreating back, then, softer, ‘Mm. That was nice.’ 

Draco nodded, looking a bit dazed. He turned to Harry and said, ‘I should apologise to you, too, really. I was …’ He licked his lips. ‘I was spoilt and awful. I had no idea of what I was saying—just regurgitating my father’s skewed views. I was cruel and vindictive—’ 

‘I forgive you, too,’ Harry interrupted. ‘And I pushed right back—it wasn’t all one-sided, you know? I insulted you back, I—’ 

‘I forgave all that, a long time ago, for what it’s worth. Though I think we can agree I have much, much more to apologise for.’ 

Harry shrugged. ‘Well, we’ve got that conversation out of the way now, haven’t we? Now let’s eat, and you can continue on with what you were saying. Tell me more about South Africa. Is it very hot there? Are there zebras?’ 

They ate the sandwiches and drank their cocoa, and Draco continued talking about his travels. 

They got up after dinner to stretch their legs, and walk around the property. It also served as a tour. Harry showed Draco the garden (which had a single gnome trying, and failing, to pull up a turnip), he showed him the pond with its tiny minnows and frogs, the apple orchard, the chicken coup, and the garage with all of Arthur’s Muggle artifacts. 

As the sun began to set, they settled down on a patch of grass to watch the sky transform into dark oranges and pinks. 

‘I am glad you’re here,’ said Harry. 

Draco shot him a look that said something, something Harry didn’t know how to interpret yet. ‘Me too.’ 

‘If you could become any fictional character, who would you choose to become?’ 

Draco huffed a laugh. ‘Easy. Emre the Mountain Grower.’ 

‘I have no idea of who or what that is,’ said Harry. 

Draco smiled. ‘I could lend you the books.’ 

‘Alright, um, sure.’ 

Draco babbled on about his favourite book series, and Harry tried to keep up. He gathered it was some kind of fiction/fantasy about someone who makes mountains? And has an enemy called Midnight who goes around eating said mountains? Then they talked of television (which Draco had never seen), and, before long, the sun had disappeared from the sky, and above them instead was a canopy of navy blue and a sprinkling of stars. 

They lay back on the grass, to look up. The night had become cool, but not cool enough to warrant going inside just yet. Insects buzzed around, so Draco took out his wand and cast an insect-repelling charm on the two of them. 

Draco started to point out constellations. Harry had taken Astronomy, too, but it was nice to hear Draco’s voice. And, granted, Draco remembered a lot more about Astronomy anyhow. 

He reached for Harry’s hand, whilst in the middle of explaining the origin of the Orion’s Belt myth. 

With a speeding heartrate, Harry flipped his palm up, so that they were palm to palm. Harry knew his hands weren’t as soft as Draco’s—they were calloused and rough, whereas Draco must use creams regularly. The skin of his hand felt smooth, soft, as he ran his palm over Harry’s. Harry caught it on its third pass over, interlacing their fingers. 

The thing is—Harry loved to be touched. He was never touched _enough_. Maybe it was because he’d never been touched as a child—never hugged. He’d have to remind himself that he’d been hugging Molly too long, or Hermione too long. Or that he’d kept his hand too long on Ron’s back, too long to be considered normal. 

But this—this felt like it was okay. That Draco needed to be touched, too. 

Full of gratefulness and warmth, he started to fall asleep to the steady sound of Draco’s voice. His eyes closed and the world melted away—all but Draco’s voice, speaking of stars and myths. 

‘Harry?’ 

‘Mm?’ 

‘You’re falling asleep. We should go inside.’ 

Harry opened his eyes blearily, to see Draco’s angelic face above him, only partially lit from the orange glow escaping the Burrow’s windows. ‘Mm, okay.’ 

Draco got up first, and pulled Harry up by the hand. 

They walked inside, where it was warm and toasty and very, very quiet. Everyone must’ve gone off to bed already. They silently walked up to the base of the stairs. 

‘Harry, can I talk to you?’ 

Harry startled, and looked towards the source of the sound. 

Ginny looked small, standing alone in the warm orange glow of the den with a too-big striped jumper on. 

Harry glanced from Ginny to Draco; Draco stared back at him with an unreadable expression. ‘Yeah, of course, Gin.’ 

Something passed over Draco’s face, before the man left to climb the stairs without a word. 

When Harry looked back at Ginny, her mouth was set in a frown. 

‘Sorry, if I’d known you wanted to talk—Well, you know you can always shout for me, yeah?’ Harry began, as he walked into the den and sat down on the couch. 

Ginny watched him move through the room with the same frown, and sighed. She finally moved to sit on the other end of the couch and turn her body to face him. ‘I didn’t want to _interrupt_.’ 

‘Gin, there was nothing to interrupt—we were just chatting. And ... you can always interrupt.’ 

Her expression softened a fraction. ‘The war is over, Harry. Are we getting back together?’ 

Flummoxed, Harry managed to utter, ‘You don’t—you don’t waste time.’ 

Ginny’s mouth twisted into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘Well?’ 

‘Uh—’ Harry looked around the room—a stuffed bookshelf, a frayed rug, the crackling fire in the hearth—stalling for time. This certainly didn’t seem the best opportunity to talk about their relationship. Not after her brother had just died … ‘Um—’ 

‘Well?’ she asked again. 

‘Isn’t it a bit … fast? To talk about this now?’ 

Ginny shrugged. ‘I’ve waited a year, and I prefer to know. Once and for all.’ 

‘Right,’ Harry answered breathily. _Fuck_. Did he have to? 

She waited, watching him intensely and folding her arms over her chest. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, took a breath, and then turned to face her. ‘I don’t think so.’ _Fuck_. 

She blinked at him, and chewed on her lip. ‘Okay.’ 

‘Gin—you’re—’ 

‘Save it. I don’t need you to compliment me or tell me I deserve better.’ 

Harry clamped his mouth shut. 

‘But you can tell me _why_.’ 

Why? Why didn’t he just get back together with her? 

Harry opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. Then opened it. ‘I think I just don’t … _feel_ it.’ He looked at her apologetically. He should feel ‘it’, he should. She’s wonderful and beautiful, and so, so strong. 

‘Don’t look at me like that.’ 

He blinked at her in surprise. 

‘I don’t want pity. So you don’t like me, romantically, anymore. Is that it?’ 

He nodded, reluctantly. Why hadn’t he prepared? He could’ve spared some time in the Forest of Dean to think of some gentler way of letting Ginny know how he felt. ‘Ginny, I love you so much.’ He really did. She was family. 

She smiled, sad but genuine this time. ‘I love you too, Harry.’ 

‘I should’ve—’ 

‘Shut up,’ she said, sounding almost fond. ‘Let’s have a hug and then go to bed, alright?’ 

Harry nodded, and managed a smile. He flung himself at her on the couch, and squeezed her tight—with their legs in all directions and Harry almost falling off the couch. 

She laughed. ‘We could’ve stood up first,’ she said, squeezing him back just as tight. 

He grunted a non-response into her hair. 

Ginny shoved at him. ‘Alright you great oaf, get up. Let’s turn in.’ 

Harry pulled back and just looked at her. The pretty freckles on her face, her kind eyes. He planted a smacking kiss on her cheek. 

‘Yeah, yeah,’ she said, pushing at him again. 

This time, he got up and extended a hand to help her up. Then they walked up the stairs hand in hand, and paused outside her bedroom door on the first floor. 

He pulled her into one more hug. ‘Goodnight, Gin.’ 

‘Night, Harry,’ she said, a little exasperatedly, into his chest. 

‘I love you,’ he said again. 

She laughed. ‘Love you too.’ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I took: 
> 
> _‘I’d want peace and quiet if it were me,’ said Luna._
> 
> _‘I’d like that,’ Harry said, grateful to be understood._
> 
> _‘Use your cloak, I’ll make a distraction.’_
> 
> from the book.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading ❤️ feedback is welcome (especially since no one reads this over besides me) [my tumblr](https://eelwinks.tumblr.com/)


	3. Epilogue (What Epilogue) Remix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning: sex! (this is where the 'underage' warning comes in, since they are almost 18 but not quite)

Harry climbed the stairs to the next floor up; Fred and George’s door was wide open. He sighed heavily, and took a step into the bedroom. He hoped he hadn’t been too awful, there. But it did feel like a relief to get his feelings out. 

Draco was sat up stiffly in George’s bed wearing a shuttered expression, with a book open on his lap lit only by the light of a table lamp. 

With his gaze set on Draco’s face, Harry shut the door behind himself softly. A muscle twitched in Draco’s jaw, and he snapped the book closed. 

Harry felt himself lean back against the door; he was knackered. He could probably fall asleep where he stood. 

‘So you’re back together then,’ Draco accused, not quite looking Harry in the eye, more like somewhere around his chest. ‘Was to be expected, I suppose. If what she’s said all year is to be believed.’ He shifted his tone in a mocking imitation of Ginny, ‘Oh Harry and I only broke up because he has to go and _save the world_. When he’s defeated You-know-who, we’re going to get _married_ and have hundreds of _babies_.’ 

Harry blinked at Draco, awed by the sudden change in demeanor compared to earlier. 

Draco coloured and pinched his mouth shut. His wide eyes darted from Harry to a spot on the wall, then back to Harry’s chest. ‘Sorry, that was rude,’ he said, back in his normal tone, and blinking rapidly. 

It was fascinating—the level of squirming Draco was doing. 

Draco looked down at the book in his lap. ‘Well. Anyway. If you want to switch the rooming situation around, certainly I can sleep with Hermione, and you with Ginny. It wouldn’t be a problem for me. Actually it’s probably more appropriate that way, on account of my, well—homosexuality. Yes, I should sleep with Hermione. I’m sure you and the Weaslette weren’t quite ready to say goodnight, there. Oh, I suppose I should call her—ugh—_Ginny_, now,’ he said with a scowl. 

‘You’re … gay?’ was all Harry managed. 

Draco’s eyes widened in surprise, but he still wouldn’t look at Harry directly. ‘Well, yes.’ 

‘I see,’ Harry answered softly. Everything was clicking in to place in his sleepy mind. Yes, this was all making sense, now. Draco was gay, and Harry was attracted to him. Fancied him, even. Harry fancied Draco. Of course he did. 

‘Is that a problem? If it makes you uncomfortable … I mean it’s not like I’d do anything untowards or anything, but it’s fine if you want to get changed in the bathroom—’ 

‘Shut up,’ Harry said, taking a page out of Ginny’s book. 

‘I beg your pardon?’ Draco demanded. 

Harry huffed a laugh, pushing himself off from the wall. He was so tired—and probably Draco was too. They could sort this out in the morning. He knelt down to rummage around in his trunk for a clean t-shirt. 

‘You’re laughing at me,’ said Draco. 

Harry pulled off his old shirt, and changed into the new one. ‘No, I’m not.’ Then he took his wand out of his jean pocket and did a teeth-cleaning charm. Lastly, off went his trousers and socks in a quick motion. 

Left in a large, plain green shirt and clashing orange Chudley Cannons boxer shorts (that Ron gave him for Christmas one year), he walked over to the bed Draco currently occupied. 

Draco eyed him with obvious unease and uncertainty. 

Harry sat on the bed beside him; the mattress dipped and the springs creaked. ‘I don’t want to sleep in Fred’s bed … can I sleep here?’ 

Draco turned to look at the unoccupied bed, before slowly nodding. ‘Okay. I suppose I can sleep there.’ 

‘No, I meant … could I sleep, in this bed, with you?’ 

Draco’s eyebrows went up but he didn’t look away from the other bed. ‘You want to …' 

‘Yeah.’ 

Draco blinked his eyes softly. ‘What about Ginny’s bed, though?’ 

‘I don’t want to sleep in her bed, either.’ 

‘Oh. Well, alright,’ Draco said with a furrowed brow. 

After setting his glasses down on the nightstand, Harry lifted the blanket and climbed in, resting his head on half the pillow. The one pillow. Draco looked down at him there and sighed, then he placed the book on the nightstand and clicked off the lamp. He scooted down under the blanket to lie flat on his back. 

Harry was turned on his side, facing Draco’s profile. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could just make out Draco’s features, from scraps of moonlight that had escaped past the curtains. His chest felt warm—like ... like his heart was full. ‘When did you figure out you were gay?’ he asked softly. 

Draco exhaled loudly. ‘You want to talk about that, _now_?’ 

Harry smiled, suppressing a yawn. ‘Yeah. Unless you don’t. It’s okay.’ 

Blinking up at the ceiling, Draco replied, ‘I suppose I’ve always known that I preferred men. Though I didn’t know what it really meant, or what it entailed, until Hogwarts. Until I went to the library and looked up the words I’d heard father say, or the words Blaise had said. When I read about it, it made sense. It explained my feelings.’ 

Harry closed his eyes and tried to picture 11-year-old Draco secretly looking up homosexuality in the Hogwarts library. It was … a surprisingly cute image, it made him smile. He opened his eyes. ‘Hang on, what did your father and Blaise say?’ 

Draco sighed. ‘Well, I used to fancy myself in love with Blaise. We were 6, and I got the idea to play _house_ with him, like a make-believe where we act out being adults in our own home. I fancied him my husband in this ill-advised scenario, and I kissed him on the cheek. It … was not received well. He said some choice words I hadn’t heard before and went straight to my father. My father’s words were kinder, but his tone was not.’ Draco sighed again. ‘The message, in the end, was that I would marry a woman and produce heirs, and I can keep my homosexual urges for trysts hidden from the public eye.’ 

‘That’s … that’s a lot to put on a 6-year-old. And after just a cheek-kiss, no less.’ 

Draco smiled a little, up at the ceiling. ‘I suppose so.’ 

‘So it didn’t work out with Blaise, then,’ Harry mused. His eyelids felt heavy, but he was very interested in this topic. 

Shaking his head, Draco laughed. ‘No. But I learned to be more discreet in my … desires. And I think he forgot about it.’ 

Harry was thoughtful. ‘And … and are you going to do what your father wants? For you to, um, marry a woman?’ 

Harry watched Draco’s mouth curl into a sad smile. ‘No. I won’t.’ 

‘Oh,’ Harry said breathily, blinking slowly. That was … a relief? ‘So, uh, have you ever had a boyfriend, then?’ 

Draco huffed a dry laugh. ‘All these questions! Well, I haven’t had time or opportunity, I suppose. What with antagonising you lot, and trying to help bring down Voldemort.’ 

‘Right,’ Harry said. And then, he yawned. He closed his eyes and tilted his face into the pillow. This probably wasn’t the right time to say it, but, well, dumb Gryffindor courage … ‘Would you ever be my boyfriend?’ 

Harry’s chest felt warm, at just the thought of it. 

Draco sucked in a breath and whipped his head to the side to look at Harry. ‘What are you talking about?’ 

Harry smiled a little, into the pillow. ‘I’d be your boyfriend, is all. If you wanted.’ 

‘Potter, have you been drinking?’ 

‘No, not since dinner. And call me Harry.’ Harry closed his eyes now. 

‘What are you planning some sort of arrangement with Ginny, then?’ 

‘Hmm? No … Oh, I forgot to mention, we didn’t get back together.’ Harry said with eyes closed, snuggling deeper into the pillow. 

Draco was silent for a while, and Harry almost drifted off to sleep. 

‘Forgot to mention that, did you? After you let me go off like that.’ 

Harry was pulled back into consciousness at the sound of Draco’s voice. He smiled. ‘You were funny.’ 

‘_Funny_,’ Draco echoed. ‘Wonderful. So you _were_ laughing at me.’ 

‘No,’ said Harry. 

‘And how am I supposed to sleep, now?’ Draco asked in a low voice, as if to himself. 

‘Easy, get closer,’ Harry said, shifting himself closer to Draco so that his chest was just barely touching Draco’s arm, and his face rather close to the side of Draco’s head. 

Draco huffed, but he did manage to slide an arm underneath Harry’s neck, and use the other arm to pull him even closer, so that Harry’s nose was nestled right behind Draco’s ear, and his body half draped over Draco’s. 

‘This conversation could’ve been a lot more straightforward, I’ll have you know,’ Draco muttered. 

‘Mm,’ Harry acknowledged, before falling asleep.

~~

With morning light streaming in from around purple cloth curtains, Harry woke up with his head tucked into Draco’s armpit, a hand on Draco’s ribs, and a leg wedged between Draco’s legs. He blinked sleepily and shifted his head to look up.

Draco was awake, frowning down at him. ‘Did you really ask me out last night?’ 

His heartrate picked up with a jolt, waking him up properly. ‘Good morning to you, too.’ 

Draco sighed, and relented. ‘Good morning.’ 

Harry flopped over onto his stomach, to get his head out of Draco’s armpit, and propping it up on Draco’s chest instead. It was a much better view of Draco’s face. And … his sleep-mussed hair. Harry stared at the white-blond strands in disarray fondly. 

Harry’s body moved up and down with Draco’s breaths, like a boat riding waves. And … he could feel Draco’s heartbeat. It was … quick. He focused in on Draco’s waiting face. 

‘Yeah, I suppose I did, didn’t I?’ Harry said, in way of an answer. 

‘You said you’d be my boyfriend.’ 

A blush formed as Harry nodded, since, well, he agreed. ‘I would. You’re so …' 

Draco licked his lips. ‘So what?’ 

Harry smiled. How could he properly describe Draco Malfoy? ‘You’re so smart, and witty, and nice to talk to …’ He thought of the day before, thought of their easy conversation, thought of Draco comforting him as he cried, thought of him holding his hand. ‘And so _good_ and kind to me …’ He looked at Draco’s face now, his pale, delicate features open and vulnerable before him. ‘So _beautiful_.’ 

Draco raised his eyebrows and exhaled hard. 

He looked at Draco’s mouth. ‘I would kiss you. If you wanted to.’ 

Draco sucked his bottom lip into his mouth to gnaw at it. ‘Harry. I’ve wanted to kiss you for a very long time,’ he said in a breath. 

‘A long time? We should talk more about that.’ 

‘Later,’ said Draco, roughly, and pushed himself up into a sitting position, which made Harry have to scramble to sit up too. Their legs were still intertwined in the sheets. 

And then, Draco kissed him. 

It was a fervent thing, all strong grasping hands and lips pressed hard against lips. Harry exhaled hard through his nose, pulling at Draco’s pajama collar and edging closer—onto Draco’s lap. And Draco was wedging Harry’s lips open with his lips, which Harry was only too happy to allow. Draco’s soft, wet tongue slipped into Harry’s mouth, as he pulled on the back of Harry’s neck—trying to get closer, though closer was impossible without melting into a complete synthesis. 

And the sounds Draco made ... all panting and desperation against his mouth. Still, it was not enough. Harry wanted more. 

Desire mounted, near the point of no return—so, Harry broke away, and looked down to try to catch his breath. Because the alternative was looking at Draco’s eyes and his pink lips, and Harry knew he was in danger of never being able to stop snogging. 

There was some serious tenting in his pants. But surely they couldn’t … they’d only _just_ had a first kiss. So, instead of suggesting they wank each other off, he said, ‘So you’ll be my boyfriend, then?’ 

‘Yes. Obviously,’ Draco answered, sounding just as breathless as Harry. 

‘I think we should wait a bit before we tell anyone about us. Is that okay? It’s just … I only just, well, pretty much rejected Ginny last night …' 

Harry’s eyes flicked to Draco’s. Draco smirked. ‘That’s fine.’ 

Harry smiled, feeling very grateful. And ... happy. And ... turned on. 

Draco’s expression became more serious. ‘I should apologise for last night … I’d heard you and … _Ginny_, well … say you loved each other. And, I just assumed—Well, you know. And my kneejerk reaction is to bite back, as you well know by now. I’m trying to be better, to be less reactive ...’ 

Harry smiled. ‘I get it. And ... it’s okay.’ He kissed Draco again, a soft peck on the lips. ‘Should we go down to breakfast, then?’ 

Looking relieved, he answered, ‘Sure.’ 

They got up, and Harry was very pleased to note a hard outline in Draco’s pajama bottoms. 

Oh, Merlin, he was going to need to calm down before breakfast. Maybe take a cold shower—or, better yet, a nice wank in the shower.

~~

The sombre looks around the breakfast table pulled Harry back into reality, away from every good feeling he’d experienced earlier that morning.

Right. 

Molly and Ginny set the table with stacks of waffles, bowls of berries and jams, bacon, sausages, and fresh raisin scones. Harry poured himself a cup of tea from one of the steaming teapots set on a quilted trivet. 

It seemed Molly and Ginny were dealing with their grief by cooking, Harry observed with a fond ache. 

Hermione spoke up first, telling them when the funerals were set. Harry only half-listened, sipping his tea, and taking a hot scone onto his plate. 

‘Also … I’ve gotten a letter from Professor McGonagall,’ Hermione began, Harry’s ears perked up. ‘They’re working on repairs later this summer, and we’re invited to come help. Only if we want to or can, of course.’ 

‘I’ll do it,’ said Ron. 

Harry looked up and caught his eye. Ron winked. 

‘Me too,’ said Harry, smiling at Ron. 

‘Count me in,’ said Draco. 

‘And me,’ said Ginny. 

Hermione smiled softly. ‘Great. I’ll write her back.’ She took a sip of tea, before adding, ‘And Professor McGonagall mentioned the possibility of a special 8th year, for those of us who missed, or could not complete, our seventh.’ 

Harry made eye contact with Draco. They could go back. 

‘Something to think about, anyhow. She’s still working out the logistics,’ said Hermione. ‘Formal invitations will be sent out in a month.’ 

They continued their breakfast in silence. Harry was thoughtful—an 8th year might be nice. It’d give him a chance to get his N.E.W.T.s, and maybe he could talk to Professor McGonagall about the possibility of teaching. Maybe she’d let him help out with some of the classes. 

And, he’d get to be there with _Draco_. His _boyfriend_, he thought with a happy lurch. This was assuming Draco would go too, of course. He could snog Draco in hidden alcoves, in closets, near the Lake … In front of everyone in the Great Hall, even. 

Maybe he should think about trying to take it slow with Draco. But, his mind couldn’t supply a reason as to _why_. Instead, glancing at Draco’s face beside him, his mind asked, quite wisely, _why not?_

So … wordlessly, Draco followed Harry back to the bedroom after eating, so that they could snog again. 

‘_Please_,’ Draco moaned against Harry’s open mouth. 

‘Please what,’ Harry managed between kisses. _Yes, yes to anything._

Harry was sat on Draco’s lap, atop the bed. 

Draco pulled him down against his crotch, and bucked his hips. 

And Harry felt the hard press of Draco’s erection on his perineum, on his arsehole, through the layers of clothing. He gasped—he'd never thought—never thought that would feel as good as it did. Experimentally, he rocked his hips, riding against the hardness in Draco’s trousers. The _friction_— 

And, oh Merlin, _he’d_ done that. He’d made Draco _hard_. 

Draco moaned, and grabbed Harry by the hips, helping him grind against him. 

‘I want to see your cock,’ Harry blurted out against Draco’s lips. 

Draco pulled back from kissing him, a look of pure want written on his flushed face—written in his dilated pupils. 

‘Take off your trousers,’ Draco commanded, his voice rough. 

Harry scrambled to do so, while Draco unbuttoned and pulled down his own along with his pants, revealing all pale long legs and pink bobbing cock peeking through the bottom of his button-down, thick and already dripping with precum. Harry’s mouth watered at the sight, as he tossed his own pants and trousers to the floor. 

Draco pulled Harry’s t-shirt over his head, and Harry fumbled with the buttons on Draco’s shirt, distracted by the sight of Draco’s cock _right there_. Harry managed a few buttons, before Draco batted his hands away and just pulled the top off over his head, tossing it to the floor. Draco grabbed Harry by the arse cheeks, pulling him into their earlier position, and Draco’s bare cock just narrowly touched the underside of Harry’s bollocks, his perineum, his arsehole. A teasing hint of touch. 

Harry captured Draco’s mouth in another wet kiss, sucking on Draco’s tongue, whilst simultaneously reaching his arm around behind his own arse to take hold of the underside of Draco’s cock—the velvet-soft skin over hard flesh—and pressing it up against himself. Letting Draco fuck between his hand and between his arse cheeks. 

Draco moaned, rocking his hips, thrusting up into the space there. And then he grabbed Harry’s cock between them, a firm pressure on the shaft, and ran the pad of his thumb over the tip. It was Harry’s turn to moan then, and he ground his arse harder against Draco’s cock. 

Draco began to stroke Harry, in wild, feverish motions, as they kissed—open-mouthed, wet, messily—and Harry’s free hand found Draco’s nipple. He pinched it between thumb and finger, making Draco gasp into his mouth. 

Their movements sped up—became more frantic. 

Draco was the first to come—his mouth open against Harry’s, uttering an ‘Ahhh,’ squeezing his eyes shut, and his body jerking and pulsating with pleasure. The sight of it made Harry come immediately, in spurts against Malfoy’s bare stomach, and onto his hand. 

They rode out each other’s orgasms, moving slowly, rocking against each other and kissing softly, slowly. They just looked at each other, then, smelling of sex, and feeling practically boneless. Harry planted a peck on Draco’s mouth. 

‘Wow,’ he said. 

‘Yeah,’ Draco answered breathlessly. 

‘We move fast,’ he whispered, an inch from Draco’s mouth. 

Draco smiled. ‘You didn’t even buy me dinner first.’ 

Harry grinned, and kissed Draco again. ‘I will. Just tell me when.’ 

Draco snorted, and kissed Harry too. 

Draco bent to the side to pick up his wand from the nightstand. Harry watched the movement, the way Draco’s muscles contracted and shifted in his torso. His chest— 

‘I scarred you.’ 

‘Yes.’ Draco pointed his wand at his stomach and _Scourgify_-ed, then he bent around Harry to carefully do the same to his arse. Once they were clean, he looked up at Harry with an open expression. ‘You did, but, that was the catalyst that changed my life for the better, wasn’t it? I don’t regret it, and, I think, neither should you.’ 

Biting his lip, Harry’s eyes scanned Draco’s. He seemed to mean it. Then he looked down at the silvery lines on Draco’s chest. Evidence there of his violence—evidence that he’d hurt this man, the man who had become so, so important to him. 

He nodded. He thought he understood. Still, he wished there had been another way—a gentler way—to bring them together. 

Harry traced the slippery smooth scar tissue with his fingertips; Draco watched his face. 

‘I don’t want to imagine what my life would be like, if you hadn’t offered to help me. What if I’d succeeded in killing Dumbledore? In getting Death Eaters into the school? I’d be beyond hope, then. Beyond redemption. I’d be a monster. I could’ve died if I stayed on the path—or gone to Azkaban. This,’ he said, touching a hand to his scars, ‘saved me. And it gave me you.’ 

Inhaling sharply, Harry thought of how easily everything could’ve turned out so much worse … He captured Draco’s mouth in a deep kiss, burying his fingers in Draco’s soft, messy hair. And Draco wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist. 

Then Harry broke away to nuzzle Draco’s neck, pulling him into a hug. 

They lay down eventually, and Draco rubbed small circles over Harry’s bare back. They talked, like they had the day before, about nothing really, about the possibility of an 8th year. And othertimes they were silent. Until it was time to go down for lunch. 

Prying themselves apart, they gathered up their tossed clothes and started to dress. Harry peered over his shoulder to check out Draco’s pale, perky arse. He could probably touch that arse, Draco would let him … maybe he’d even get to bite it. 

Draco caught him looking. ‘Hey. Focus.’ 

Harry smirked and went back to pulling up his trousers. 

Once dressed and ready to go downstairs, Harry tugged Draco into another quick kiss. When he pulled back, he ran his fingers through Draco’s messy hair to smooth it, and tuck the loose strands behind his ears. Then he planted one more peck on Draco’s lips, like a stamp of approval. Draco let it all happen with a soft smile on his lips. 

‘I’m not sure I’ve quite accepted this is happening, yet. Am I dreaming? Is this a hallucination?’ Draco said, staring at Harry’s lips. 

Harry smiled. ‘It’s real.’ And, he kissed Draco, again.

~~

The next coming days were long ones: sad, depressing, filled with funerals. It was draining, mentally and physically, to go to so many in so short a time. But Harry wouldn’t skip a single one, feeling like he owed it to them—to those who lost their lives so that they all could live in a world without Voldemort.

But during the nights, Harry and Draco took comfort in each other—in each other’s bodies. Nights were filled with snogging, hand jobs, rutting, and falling asleep, satisfied and spent, in each other’s arms. 

Draco held Harry’s hand and rubbed his back, while Harry cried at Lupin and Tonk’s joint funeral. 

It went by in a blur. Literally and figuratively, on account of Harry being unable to see through his tears. Afterwards, Harry hugged Andromeda, with baby Teddy in her arms, with tears escaping onto her robes. She had nodded at Draco, then. 

‘Nephew,’ Andromeda had said. 

‘Aunt Andromeda … I am so, so sorry.’ 

She’d smiled at him, and given them both an open invitation to visit. 

‘We will. We’ll come often,’ Harry blubbered into her robes. 

Harry held Draco’s hand and rubbed his back, while Draco cried at Snape’s funeral. 

It was a small and modest affair. Those who knew what Snape had contributed to the war effort attended, which meant a close group of students and teachers. Some ministry officials. Predictably, Snape hadn’t wanted a fuss. He was buried in Godric’s Hollow, not far from Harry’s parents. 

‘Do you want to meet them?’ asked Harry, feeling silly, but … 

‘Yes,’ said Draco, wiping his eyes and squeezing Harry’s hand. 

They walked over to Harry’s parents’ burial place, hand-in-hand. 

‘Mum, dad, this is my boyfriend Draco. Yes, _that_ Draco,’ Harry said, laughing a little. 

Draco snorted. 

‘As you can see, he is quite fit and I’m very lucky.’ 

Draco huffed. ‘Fuck off, I’m the lucky one.’ 

Harry squeezed Draco’s hand. 

Draco eyed the names carved into stone. ‘It’s very nice to meet you both. I’ll … I will do my best to take care of your son.’ 

Harry took a quick look around to make sure no one from the funeral was nearby, before kissing Draco’s cheek.

~~

That night, Draco had charmed a _Muffliato_ on the room, and had Harry, completely naked, go on all fours atop the bed. Draco, naked too, sat at the foot of the bed and pried an arse cheek apart with a thumb. Harry’d never been exposed like this before … Insecurities threatened to overcome him and he suppressed a wince. It was quite possible Draco wouldn’t like what he saw, that he’d want to stop. But, Draco had asked, and, Harry trusted him. And it was more than that—Harry want to _try_ things, sexual things, with Draco, specifically. He wanted to be open, wanted Draco to really _see_ him—know him, experience him—_all_ of him …

‘Fuck, this is the single most arousing sight in all the known universe,’ Draco muttered, while his fingers kneaded Harry’s arse in pulses. 

Harry let out a surprised laugh. ‘Alright.’ Relief and warmth flooded his chest. 

‘I wish I had a camera with me.' 

‘Merlin, Draco! As if I’d want something like that out in a _drawer_ somewhere—’ 

Draco laughed, low in his throat. ‘Hush, I’m only teasing.’ And he brought his other hand to Harry’s other arse cheek—spreading Harry open wide with both hands. ‘I’m going to eat you out now, Harry,’ he said in a low, sultry voice. 

Harry’s heartrate picked up. ‘Yeah. Okay.’ 

Without wasting time, Draco lips applied light pressure to Harry’s arsehole. Harry gasped and arched his back. ‘Oh fuck!’ It was so sensitive there, so hot and strange, and new—and, and _Draco’s mouth_ had been on his arse. 

Draco pulled back, and Harry’s immediate wild thought was he missed the contact. 

‘Alright?’ 

‘Yes. Yeah. Fuck. Continue. Please,’ Harry managed, digging his fingers into the comforter to prepare, this time. 

Draco brought his mouth back, and ran his soft closed lips up the length of the cleft, breathing lightly against the skin there. 

_Oh._ ‘Please,’ Harry groaned again, pressing his arse back into Draco’s mouth. He needed more pressure, more … _something_. He felt the blood rushing to his cock. 

Draco’s hands tightened on Harry’s arse, halting Harry’s attempt to grind against his mouth. ‘Please what, Harry?’ he said between featherlight kisses to Harry’s arsehole. 

‘Please … lick me.’ Harry trembled. 

‘Mm … okay.’ Draco let out a tentative lick against the puckered hole. 

‘Oh, fuck!’ 

Draco ran the flat of his tongue from bottom to top of Harry’s cleft. 

‘Oh!’ 

Then that sinful, perfect tongue slid circles around Harry’s hole. 

‘Yes, yes _please_, yes—’ 

And Draco lapped and sucked at the skin, Harry hadn’t known—would never have guessed how _good_ it felt. His body quivered and shook, his own heartbeat echoed in his ears, and his head dropped to the bed—Harry's arms couldn’t support his torso anymore. 

His cock was hard and aching to be touched, dripping with pre-ejaculate, as he tried to grind his arse back against Draco’s wet mouth. 

Then the tip of Draco’s tongue breached through Harry’s arsehole. 

‘Oh fuck, yes!’ 

Harry released one of his hands from its death grip on the comforter; shoving it between his legs to fist at his cock. His mouth was open against the blanket, mouthing at it—Fuck if he could only kiss Draco, _and_ have Draco’s mouth on his arse at the same time— 

Harry’s arsehole was stretching open around Draco’s tongue. His _tongue_— 

Harry saw stars behind closed eyelids, coming hard in long spurts against his hand, thighs and the comforter. He moaned, and Draco kept licking him until Harry’s body stilled. 

He collapsed onto his side. 

‘Fucking hell,’ he managed, panting. 

Draco smiled like he was proud of himself, and lay down on his side to face him. ‘Good?’ 

‘Incredible. Amazing. Out of this world.’ 

Draco laughed. ‘Good.’ 

Harry looked at Draco, his mouth pink and wet with saliva, his hair mussed up, and his eyes: bare, open, sparkling. Harry swiped a hand through Draco’s hair to smooth it. ‘Imagine if it were your cock in my arse.’ 

Draco’s eyes seemed to darken, and he visibly swallowed. ‘You want to …' 

‘Yeah. I want your cock in me.’ 

Draco exhaled, in shaky puffs, staring intensely and searchingly into Harry’s eyes. ‘When?’ 

Harry worried his bottom lip with his teeth, not breaking eye contact. ‘Now?’ 

Draco inhaled sharply. ‘But you just—’ 

‘Yeah, I know.’ He could go for another round … He might not get _hard_, but, his arse was a little loosened up already and he wanted—wanted to feel _more_. To explore this new world only recently opened up to him … He’s alive—they're here together—and Voldemort is dead. Harry should be able to fuck a bloke, if he wants (and if Draco wants, of course). 

‘You’re sure?’ 

‘Positive. Do you want to?’ 

‘Fuck, yes. Of course I do.’ Draco lifted himself up on an elbow and looked around. ‘Um, we just need … lubricant. Uh, where’s my wand? Oh, there it is.’ 

‘Hey,’ Harry said, catching Draco’s arm. ‘We don’t have to if you’re nervous or anything. We can do something else, save this for another time.’ He’d noticed by now that Draco starts babbling when he gets nervous or uncomfortable. 

‘I’m not … well, maybe a little. But, I _want_ to. I really, really want to.’ Draco scooped up his wand from the floor beside the bed, and cast a spell into his hand. His hand filled up with clear, shiny liquid. 

‘Oh,’ Harry exhaled. ‘Have you done this before?’ 

‘Fuck no,’ Draco replied quickly. ‘Have you?’ 

‘No, I haven’t ever.’ He’d fooled around with Ginny, sure, but they'd never had penetrative sex. 

So, it’d be … both of their first times? 

Draco smoothed the lubricant over his cock. Harry leaned up on an elbow to watch Draco’s hand movements—watch the pink, hard shaft come to shine with the slippery substance. _That_ was going to be inside him, soon. 

‘How do you want to do this?’ Harry asked. 

‘I want to see your face, so … you on top? Or, on your back?’ 

‘Yeah, yeah, um. Me on top, then.’ 

Draco carefully arranged himself, lying down beside Harry flat onto his back, and Harry scrambled to sit up and look the length of Draco’s lean body—the long expanses of pale skin, the ready and twitching pink cock. Harry leaned over to plant hard kisses on Draco’s lips—on his jaw, and swung a leg over him to straddle his hips. Then, Harry moved a hand behind himself to grip Draco’s slippery cock—intending to try to guide it in. 

‘Wait,’ said Draco, holding a hand to Harry’s abdomen. ‘Lift up a bit.’ 

Harry didn’t know what for, but obeyed anyway. Then, Draco flitted his hand between Harry’s legs and pressed a lube-slicked finger against his arsehole. 

‘Mm, oh …' Harry gasped at the now familiar feeling. ‘Aren’t you going to, um, use your cock though?’ 

‘I’ll just make sure you’re stretched out enough first, okay?’ 

‘Oh, yeah. Okay.’ 

Draco pressed his finger inside, meeting little resistance. And fuck, did it feel good. Harry felt his softened cock stir. Maybe he _could_ get hard again so soon after coming … Draco tried a second finger. That one stung a little, and Harry hissed. 

‘Sorry,’ Draco rushed to say. ‘I’ll go slower.’ 

‘It’s okay,’ Harry breathed out. 

Gentler now, Draco edged his second finger in slowly, until both were all the way in. He kept them there for a beat, then made little scissor movements with them, stretching him just a little, then a little more. They locked eyes—they were really doing this, then. 

‘Fuck, I want you,’ Harry uttered, eyes raking over Draco’s face. 

Draco’s eyes flashed with want. ‘You think you’re ready?’ 

‘Yes. Fuck, yes.’ 

Draco pushed a third finger in for good measure, and moved them in and out, very slowly. 

‘I’m ready, Draco,’ Harry insisted. 

‘Alright,’ Draco replied breathily. He removed his fingers slowly, then, positioned his own cock to be right underneath Harry’s arsehole. ‘Just, sit down slowly. Try to keep your arse relaxed.’ 

Harry lowered himself onto the head of Draco’s cock. Fuck, it was bigger than fingers, but he wanted it—inside him … so fucking badly. The head breached through Harry’s arsehole, and Harry felt like he might be being torn open. In a painful but absolutely brilliant way. 

‘Slowly,’ Draco mumbled. 

Harry sat himself down further. It hurt a bit, but … fuck, he was having sex. With _Draco_. 

Draco rubbed circles on Harry’s thighs. ‘Slowly,’ he said again. 

Harry pressed himself down further, feeling his body adjusting to Draco’s size. He was full of Draco, full of Draco’s _cock_. Then, Draco’s full length was inside of him, all the way. 

‘Wait a second to adjust,’ Draco said, breathlessly. 

‘How do you know so much,’ Harry grunted, looking down at him. 

Draco huffed a little laugh, amusement flashing in his eyes. ‘I read about it, remember?’ 

Harry blinked. _Oh yeah, Draco’s homosexual_ research_ in the library_. ‘Right.’ 

Well, he felt ready now. So, Harry leaned his hands on Draco’s chest for support, and he _moved_. 

Letting out a moan, Draco squeezed his eyes shut and his body arched upwards involuntarily, as he gripped at Harry’s thighs with his fingernails, raking them over Harry’s skin. Just the sight of Draco like this—losing abandon—was the most erotic thing Harry had ever seen. 

Then, Draco was grabbing Harry’s hips to help him move for a beat, before changing his mind and grabbing at his arse. 

‘Harry,’ he moaned, kneading Harry's arse cheeks in pulses, then going back to rubbing hands all over Harry’s thighs. 

Harry leaned forward a little, with eyes locked onto Draco’s face all twisted up with pleasure, he carefully moved his hands from Draco’s chest to either side of Draco’s head. ‘Oh!’ The change of angle felt _good_, making him cry out in surprise ecstasy—Draco’s cock was rubbing up against Harry’s prostate. 

‘Oh Merlin, yes,’ Harry blurted out, doing it again. 

‘Fuck, Harry,’ Draco practically whined through panting breaths. ‘At this rate … I don’t know … how long I’ll last—’ 

‘Oh! Draco, fuck, yes!’ 

Harry sped up his movements, rocking his hips, while Draco’s grip on Harry’s thighs tightened. Draco moved a hand to Harry’s cock, ghosting over the sensitive skin there with his palm. His grip tightened on Harry’s shaft, causing a moan to escape from Harry’s mouth. It was bliss … that was the only way Harry could describe it. Then, Draco began pumping his hand in time to Harry’s movements. 

_Everything_, everything felt so good. So—so, so much. 

Draco started thrusting upwards too, making smacking sounds against Harry’s arse. Their bodies found a steady, beautiful rhythm. A synchronicity. 

And then, Draco was crying out, with his mouth open, and hands grasping onto Harry’s skin. His body pulsated with orgasm, shooting hot ejaculate inside of Harry’s body. 

Harry came shortly afterwards—surprising himself that he even _could_ so soon after the first time—his arse tightened around Draco’s still ejaculating cock. 

Harry was floating, everything fuzzy around the edges. Panting, he came back into himself, slowly. 

He let himself fall forwards onto Draco, kissing his mouth messily, wetly. ‘You’re amazing’, he murmured against his lips. 

‘You are,’ Draco said back. 

Harry moved carefully to lie beside Draco, letting the soft cock slide out of him slowly. Draco leaned over and kissed Harry on the forehead, and leaned farther over to pick up his wand from the nightstand. 

He _Scourgify_-ed them both, then half-draped himself over Harry’s body. In response, Harry wrapped his arms around Draco—his skin hot and damp with perspiration. 

‘Well there you have it. That was sex,’ Harry said, smiling, with his eyes closed. He was probably going to pass out. 

‘Mmhmm,’ Draco mumbled into Harry’s chest, kissing it just once.

~~

It was the day before Fred’s funeral had been set, and they still hadn’t planned anything—besides knowing it’d be there at the Burrow. They all sat around the breakfast table, with steaming dishes of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, and beans in front of them. Harry spooned a big helping of eggs onto his plate.

‘I think …' George started. They all stopped what they were doing—stopped eating—and turned to look at him. ‘I think Fred would want a party.’ 

Harry smiled softly. 

‘He wouldn’t want us all sitting around, wearing black, sobbing and feeling bad. He’d want … he’d want music, dancing, a Quidditch game, even. _Fireworks_.’ 

Molly sniffled. ‘That’s a lovely idea, George.’ 

Arthur took his wife’s hand and squeezed it. They smiled at each other. 

‘Yeah,’ Ron agreed. ‘We should be celebrating him.’ 

Hermione threw an arm around Ron’s shoulders and hummed her agreement into his shoulder. 

So, by the time they’d finished eating, they had a plan. And for the rest of the day, they all set to work baking cakes, contacting guests to dress for a party rather than a funeral, decorating, setting up a dancefloor and music, ordering alcohol to be delivered, and rounding up enough brooms for a Quidditch game. 

The next day, white linen canopies had been set up, with wildflowers wrapped around the poles, above a patch of grass for dancing. They had tables set out, with drinks, cakes, and other snacks. 

George put one of Fred’s LPs on the turntable, and something that Harry could only guess was 1980s American hip-hop started to play. 

Harry exchanged an amused look with George, who grinned with a shrug of his shoulders. 

Guests started to arrive at about 3pm. 

It was a lot of people. Harry recognised a lot of Fred’s friends and family, and people from school. Lots of people he didn’t know, too. Some stood around in their robes, looking awkward like they didn’t quite know what to do—wasn't this a funeral? Aren’t they supposed to be reserved, be sad? Some really were sad, of course—still deep in their own mourning. And that was okay, too. 

Molly and Arthur greeted everyone as they came in. Harry hovered over to the side near a tree, just watching the goings-on. He wasn’t feeling terribly social, and knew that Ron and Hermione were busy in the kitchen, and Ginny was at the food table. The others were probably talking to guests already, or going around inviting people to the Quidditch game. 

Some people spotted Harry and beelined towards him, wanting to tell him thank you, wanting to shake his hand, before wandering off. Harry politely obliged them, until he found himself surrounded by a small crowd of adults who just wouldn’t leave—trying to drill him for information. He should’ve hid _behind_ the tree, perhaps. Though that wouldn’t be very good of him, he supposed. 

‘How’d you do it, Harry?’ 

‘How did you defeat … uh,’ whispering, ‘you-know-who?’ 

‘Um, well, you see, today we’re here for Fred—’ Harry tried to interject, determined to stay polite for as long as possible. These people meant well, he supposed. 

‘I heard you socked him right in the nose, and declared: That was for my parents, you berk!’ 

‘Uh—’ 

Draco appeared out of nowhere to step in. ‘Excuse me, I just need to borrow the _Saviour_ for a moment,’ he said, grabbing hold of Harry arm and pulling him through the crowd. 

‘Thank you,’ Harry murmured under his breath, so no one would overhear. 

‘Don’t mention it,’ Draco answered, tossing a smirk over his shoulder at Harry. ‘Now, shall we play Quidditch?’ 

‘Merlin, yes please.’ 

The young-ish people were rounded up. Ginny and George were designated team captains and picked their teams. Hermione, Neville, and Luna even joined in. Harry was picked for Seeker by Ginny, and Draco picked by George for the same. 

Soon enough they kicked off, with their borrowed brooms. Harry flew high up into the bright blue sky, looking down to watch the canopies, tables, people and trees shrink below him. A cool summer breeze ruffled his hair, and the world felt still, felt silent—save for the distant sounds of Muggle electronic dance music. Draco followed him, with white-blond hair whipping behind himself. Harry turned to face him. It had been so long since they could do this—it felt rather nostalgic and exciting to be in the air opposite Draco. 

‘Try to pay attention to the Snitch this time, Draco.’ Harry smirked, just to goad him on. 

Memories flashed by of a tinier Draco trying to distract him, trying to get Harry to react and notice him … 

‘Try not to stare at my arse, Harry,’ Draco quipped back, with a knowing lift of his eyebrow. 

Harry shot him a scandalised look. Draco winked and flew off to take a lap around the makeshift ‘pitch’. Harry couldn’t help check out his arse as he flew away. After all, those grey trousers were quite tight, really hugging the curves of Draco’s perky round arse … 

The game started. The Snitch was released, and Harry caught a glint of it before it disappeared. The other players flew around, throwing the Quaffle, hitting Bludgers. But Harry’s eyes scanned for that flash of gold. 

Fuck, it’d been too long. Harry hadn’t realised how much he missed this. He flew a somersault, just for fun. Then, he went up higher and higher, just to enjoy the sky. 

But he couldn’t see Draco too well, he was just a dot of that distinctive hair colour. So, Harry drifted down slowly, like a falling leaf. 

Close enough to see Draco better, and, not for the first time, he marveled at how good-looking the bloke was. How elegant and at-ease he looked, all long graceful limbs, soaring in loops, while studiously looking around for the Snitch. 

With warmth in his chest, Harry had to smile. 

Then, Draco was off. Harry’s mind clicked in to gear, it was time to move. He raced towards where Draco seemed to be aiming for. Harry was far, but, he might be able to catch up. Then Draco took a sharp turn, and Harry leaned into his broom, putting all he had into it—but then, in a flash, Draco was waving the Snitch in the air. 

He hadn’t even seen it … 

Draco turned his head to look over his shoulder, smirking at Harry, as his team erupted in cheers and shouts of his name. 

‘_Harry,_’ scolded Ginny, flying up to him. She sighed. ‘You’ve lost your touch, old man.’ 

‘Hey! I’m nearly 18,’ Harry sputtered defensively. ‘I just didn’t see it. Draco must’ve caught a glimpse that wasn’t visible from my angle. It was luck ... probably.’ 

‘Mmhmm,’ she said dryly, narrowing her eyes at him. ‘And it has nothing to do with his arse in those trousers, huh?’ 

Harry blushed. ‘Uh—’ She _knew_? 

She rolled her eyes. 

‘Ginny—’ 

‘Yes, Harry?’ She raised an eyebrow, looking at him pointedly. 

‘You …' 

She sighed. ‘Yes, I _know_. You two aren’t exactly subtle, you know. Platonic friends don’t usually _hold hands_.’ 

They don’t? ‘Fuck,’ he whispered. ‘I didn’t want to say anything, not so soon. I didn’t want to hurt you—or take away from ...’ Mourning Fred? Harry winced. 

Ginny smiled at him, tossing him a bone. ‘It’s alright, Harry. You don’t have to tiptoe around, certainly not for my sake. I’m fine, and, for what it’s worth, I’m happy for you. You seem good together.’ 

‘I—Ah, Gin. _Thanks_, really. You’re the best. Honestly … Fuck. I love you.’ 

Ginny laughed. ‘Love you too, old man. Go congratulate your boyfriend, then.’ 

‘Um. Okay. Yeah …' 

Harry looked at Draco, still holding the Snitch in one hand and talking enthusiastically to George to Angelina, hovering a few feet off the ground and looking quite pleased with himself. Again, Harry had to smile. 

He flew over, and hovered just outside the happy group, across from Draco. Draco’s eyes shifted over to him, and a smirk formed on his lips. George and Angelina noticed the look, and realising Harry was there, made space for him to join them. 

‘Congratulations,’ Harry said. 

‘Why _thank you_, Potter.’ 

‘_Harry_.’ 

‘Harry,’ Draco repeated, softer now, with twinkling eyes. 

Harry sucked in a breath. ‘Come here and kiss me, then.’ 

Draco’s mouth slackened, as he blinked at Harry. ‘Uh—’ 

‘It’s okay. I think everyone’s figured it out,’ Harry said, biting his lip and looking to George and Angelina for confirmation. 

Angelina laughed with a hand over her mouth, and George smirked, saying, ‘Yeah you guys aren’t subtle.’ 

‘That’s what Ginny said.’ Harry shrugged, smiling. 

‘Er …' Draco managed, looking off across the field towards Ginny who was deep in conversation with Luna and not paying them any attention, then he looked at George and Angelina. Then, at Harry. ‘Alright.’ 

George and Angelina exchanged a look and flew off together. 

‘You took my advice,’ Harry murmured, eyes glued to Draco as he approached. 

‘You didn’t,’ Draco replied with a smirk. 

Harry rolled his eyes, just as Draco captured his mouth in a soft kiss. Harry took one hand off his broom to place it on Draco’s ribs, nudging him closer. 

A squeak brought Harry out of the kiss. He pulled back and looked for the source of the sound: Neville stood a couple metres away, staring at them with wide-eyes. 

The squeak seemed to bring the attention of everyone else. Maybe Harry should’ve planned the reveal of their relationship with a bit more care. He looked around at the faces of his friends. Most just looked amused: Ron, Hermione, and Ginny included. Luna wore a knowing smile on her face. Neville, Dean and Seamus were a bit more surprised. 

Harry locked eyes with Ron and shrugged. Ron nodded with a smile, like he was saying: go on then. And he turned away to say something to Hermione. 

So, Harry kissed Draco again. And then, breaking off, asked, ‘Want to dance?’ 

‘You’re rubbish at dancing.’ 

Harry laughed. ‘I know. Maybe you should lead.’ 

‘Fair enough.’ 

They landed and tossed their brooms in the pile with the others, and walked over to the dance-canopy, hand-in-hand. 

Nineties Muggle pop music played, something upbeat with a female singer. They pushed past other couples through to the centre of the dance floor, and Harry wrapped his arms around Draco’s shoulders. Draco rolled his eyes and took hold of Harry’s waist. ‘This feels a bit ridiculous, Harry.’ 

Harry grinned. ‘It’s nice. Very couple-y. I should take you to Madam Puddifoot’s next.’ 

‘Ugh. No thank you. You owe me a proper meal, in a proper restaurant, if you recall.’ 

‘I know,’ Harry smiled as they spun in a slow circle. ‘Hey, you never did tell me when you first thought of kissing me.’ 

Draco groaned. 

‘Well?’ 

He sighed. ‘Fourth year, Yule Ball, if you _must_ know.’ He pinched his mouth closed, then relented to add, ‘You looked fit in your robes and absolutely miserable with that Patil woman. I’d imagined myself cutting in, showing you how it’s done—' Draco cut himself off, his cheeks becoming pink. 

Harry bit his lip to keep from grinning too big. ‘Ah. That sounds nice.’ Then, for good measure, he kissed Draco. 

They danced to a few more songs, ate some cake and chatted with their friends at the snack table. 

The sun went down, and most of the party guests left. Arthur set up a small fire, and they all sat around it in a circle, sharing stories about Fred. Laughing and crying at the memories as the fire crackled. Draco held Harry’s hand throughout it, as Harry rested his head on Draco’s shoulder. 

To cap off the evening, they shot off fireworks into the night sky. Dragons, phoenixes, thestrals, and unicorns. All in brilliant colours, lighting up their awed faces. They wooped and cheered and danced around in circles with arms outstretched, as the lifelike shapes flew by. 

‘There you have it, brother,’ George had whispered into the air.

~~

Harry squeezed Draco’s hand, on the walk up to the tiny French cottage. The day was hot, the sunlight shining bright on the lush garden lining the twisting path up to the house.

Narcissa Malfoy stood quickly, from her chair overlooking the back garden, and rushed towards Draco in an instant. Draco dropped Harry’s hand, hurrying to meet his mum halfway. 

‘My boy,’ she uttered, wrapping him up in her arms. 

‘Mother,’ he answered. 

Harry looked beyond them, at a frail Lucius slowly standing up from his chair, leaning heavily on his cane. With his mouth set in a firm line, he made eye contact with Harry and nodded, once. Harry nodded back, tentatively. 

Narcissa pulled back, to give her son a once over, hands gripping tight to his arms. ‘Oh Draco, I’m so thankful.’ She turned to Harry, with tears in her eyes. ‘Mr Potter, _thank you_.’ 

Harry managed a smile. ‘Call me Harry. And, um, you’re welcome.’ 

She smiled softly at him, then turned back to her son. ‘You’re quite alright, darling?’ 

‘Better,’ Draco said earnestly.

~~

A week later, while a cool night breeze ruffled his curls, Harry took a sip of red wine. The Eiffel Tower glowed in gold on the skyline, against the backdrop of dark Parisian sky.

As fragments of conversations in languages he did not understand passed by his attention, all Harry wanted to look at was Draco, sitting across from him. They sat at a wrought-iron table in a busy outdoor square surrounded by fellow tourists chattering happily. 

Draco had his own glass of wine in hand, that he swirled around leisurely, looking back at Harry with relaxation and contentment written all over his face. 

Harry leaned forward to reach for Draco’s free hand where it rested on the table, and interlaced their fingers. ‘Juh tem.’ 

A smile blossomed on Draco’s lips, and his eyes shined, reflecting the lights of shop windows and cafés around them. Squeezing Harry’s hand, he said, ‘Je t’aime aussi, Harry.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it—my goal was to finish something over 10K, and I ended up with over 20K 😊
> 
> Thank you for reading ❤️ Feedback is very welcome ! (I can handle criticism)
> 
> [my tumblr](https://eelwinks.tumblr.com/)


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